Better Angels
by NajwaBarlaam
Summary: At 25, James Sirius Potter is a professional quidditch player and accomplished playboy. He can't complain about anything, except the one girl he's never been able to get out of his head. Does he have the patience to win her over? Sins of the Father sequel. Focuses on James and Hunter. No real Scorpius and Rose storyline.
1. Hat and Hare

Kim sat in The Hat and Hare, having a bit of a drink with a few colleagues. She didn't really consider them friends, but even after several years, it still felt strange to call them employees. Anyway, they weren't her employees, they were the Malfoy's. She just supervised this particular endeavor.

"Couldn't believe that poor boy you found out in Devonshire," Anna was saying. "I've never felt so bad for anyone in my life."

Kim made a noncommittal noise. She had seen a great deal more than most of the people she worked with. Even those with a few more years than she had.

"Let's not dwell on work tonight, shall we?" Moore said, glancing around at the few of them gathered for a pint. He grinned over at little blond Aisling. "I'm sure there's gossip to be had."

Aisling laughed off the comment. "In fact," she said, "there is a bit. Did you hear that-" she broke off, glancing at the door as it opened, automatically assessing the situation. One man, relatively tall, dark hair. He went straight over to the bar, pulled up a stool, and began speaking to the bar tender. "Did you hear that Kingsley Shacklebolt is considering retirement?" Aisling said, evidently dismissing the man as a threat.

"Sure, and that's not even gossip," Eamon cut in. "That's bloody politics. If we're going to talk about the ministry, I want to hear who's been shagging their way up the ladder."

Kim smiled slightly at this. Eamon always did want all the sorted little details. She started to respond, but stopped when she felt all the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She did a slow survey of the pub. No one seemed to be watching her. She rolled her shoulders slightly, remembering the old adage about someone walking across your grave. Which made little sense, and did not in any way deserve her time or her attention.

"You're right, Eamon," Aisling responded with an eye roll. "We should certainly be talking about the sexual habits of ministry underlings, rather than who'll likely be running the whole damn thing soon. It is _much_ more important."

Eamon nodded once, sharply. "I'm glad you agree." He made an inviting gesture.

Aisling snorted.

"Have they tipped his likely successor?" Moore asked. Kim would bet almost anything Moore already knew the answer, and twice as much as anyone at the table about the whole situation. But then, he wasn't her finder for nothing. The man knew the difference between when to listen and when to talk.

Kim noticed the man at the bar pick up a drink and walk toward them. Aisling obviously saw the same thing right as she began to respond, because she fell quiet.

"Merlin," Anna whispered. "That's James Potter."

"You're mad," Aisling said, as Eamon laughed.

"What would James Potter be doing in a muggle pub?" Moore asked. Kim noticed that he didn't argue whether it was him or not. He simply wondered about his possible motivations.

For her part, Kim had recognized him the moment he turned toward the table. Had she not, the walk would have given him away. She felt a vague sense of annoyance that she hadn't noticed it as he walked through the door. The boy – man now – walked as though he owned the whole world. Bloody irritating habit.

Potter snagged a chair on his way by another table, making Kim sigh. That meant he intended to sit down.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, smiling a greasy smile and not waiting for a response. As he took his seat, Aisling, Eamon, and Anna all chorused their agreement.

He slid the drink in front of Kim. "White Russian, yeah?"

"She drinks gin and tonic or vodka and seven," Eamon cut in, somewhat proprietorially. Kim guessed he already regretted telling Potter he could sit down. She stopped herself sighing. The boy really needed to get past his little crush.

Potter just smirked at him.

Kim looked at the drink and back at Potter. Then she pointedly ignored it. He laughed and took it back, drinking down a good third of it. Then he set it back in front of her.

She almost smiled at that. At least he had the sense to know she would never accept an open drink from someone she didn't trust.

"What do you want, Potter?" she asked, deciding she might as well be direct.

He considered it, cocking his head slightly, eyes on her face. "At the moment? You to come home with me."

She heard Anna choke on her drink and Eamon start to rise from his chair, obviously ready to defend her honor. She approved of Moore's move to keep him seated.

She smiled slightly. "Tell me, Potter. Has that line _ever_ worked?"

He shrugged. "I'm a professional quidditch player. Mostly I say, 'Hi, I'm James Potter.' And that's enough." He considered it for a moment. "That's backwards, actually. Mostly _they_ say, 'Hi, you're James Potter.' And that's enough."

"Still trading on your name, are you?" Hunter asked scathingly.

He only smiled, not seeming the least bit bothered by her tone. "I can't help who I am or what I'm called."

"You can help whether or not you've got manners," Eamon responded.

Potter laughed at that. He studied the boy for a minute and then turned to Hunter. "Now that's almost cruel. Even for you."

The statement cause general objection from the table at large, but Kim had to fight down a flush. She actually wanted to defend herself and explain that she hadn't encouraged the boy in the least. It was a bit like being caught with a twelve year old hard in love with you and sure you felt the same.

He glanced thoughtfully around at the group. "Loyal lot, aren't they. I don't even see Scorpius protesting this much."

"He knows me better," Kim responded.

"You don't think Scorpius would defend you?" Anna asked, shocked.

James laughed at that.

"I don't see what's funny," Eamon huffed.

"It's just strange," James explained. "You aren't the sort of people I'd have expected her to be friends with, is all."

"We work together," Kim offered, by way of explanation.

She didn't miss the hurt look she got from Eamon. Bloody hell. Something had to be done about him. She had a feeling Potter had noticed the look as well.

"You went to school with a lot of people you'd never have shared a pint with," Potter pointed out. "Well," he added. "Unless you intended to spit in it, or get them drunk and then . . ." he shrugged, "tie them naked to a tree or something."

"Long-held fears, Potter?" she asked.

"You bet," he agreed easily. "You are, hands down, one of the most terrifying people I've ever met."

Eamon snorted. "You must have led a charmed life."

"For the most part," Potter acknowledged with a shrug. He looked a Kim, and then looked at the drink pointedly. "If you aren't going to drink it, I'll have it. They're better than I remember."

The man had a way of leaving her with two irritating options. Either she could give it to him, and he'd be quite happy. Or she could drink it, and he'd be just as happy. She thought briefly about pouring it out, but couldn't bring herself to behave quite so childishly in front of people she needed to be able to order around.

Instead she ignored him. "What are you still doing here, Potter?" she asked. "I thought we established that I wouldn't be going home with you."

He shook his head. "You didn't actually say that," he told her. "You just asked if the line ever worked."

"I won't be going home with you," she told him.

He grinned. "Alright then," he said, making no move to get up.

"So you can leave now," she added.

"No, I think I'll stay," he decided.

She growled at him. Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath and scolded herself for losing any sort of control.

She opened them to find him watching her.

"I'm not trying to piss you off," he told her, looking serious for the first time since he'd walked over. "But, you have to understand, I walked into a bar at random and happened upon someone I'm always halfway looking for."

She glared at him. "Yes, I remember your stalking habits."

He sighed and looked around the table. "That'll be in the Daily Prophet within the week," he said, pushing his fingers through his hair. "I can see the headline now. 'James Potter, quidditch player extraordinaire, or crazed stalker?' Or some tosh like that."

"Good," Kim said, showing her teeth.

"Do you two have a history?" Anna asked, sounding amazed. Kim saw Aisling and Moore both roll their eyes. Eamon glared daggers at Potter.

"No," Hunter said.

"Yes," Potter answered at the exact same moment.

Hunter scowled at him. "The word 'history' does not apply."

"Sure it does," he said, seeming unflappable. "Relationship wouldn't, I'll grant you. But history just means something happened between us. There's no implication of what."

She only glared at him. So he smiled and turned to the others. "For instance," he said. "Hunter once dosed me with muggle drugs. And me all naïve and unaware. That would be a part of our history."

"Bollocks. Unaware?" She scoffed. "You knew perfectly well what was going on."

He shook his head. "I had no idea. I knew you had offered me a pill." He gave a half shrug. "And I knew you had put it in your mouth." He smiled. "I really don't think I can be blamed for kissing you, as any man would have to be dead not to want to," he gave a slight not toward Eamon, who blushed. "And I certainly didn't know what the effect would be."

"That just makes you twice the idiot," she told him. "The whole thing started because you wanted to know why I had acted strangely. Obviously, if I showed you, you were going to act the same way."

He laughed at that. "I think you're giving me a lot more credit than I deserve for clear thinking around a distracting girl when I was sixteen. Seventeen?" he asked, obviously trying to remember when exactly it had happened. "It's been a while."

"Close to a decade," Kim said, sighing to show she wished it had been longer.

He laughed at that. "I'm only twenty-five," he said, ignoring the sigh. "It's not a decade quite yet."

"I said close," she corrected. Then she smiled. "But it's nice to know you're as thick as you always were."

"I take it things didn't end well?" Anna asked.

James smiled at her. "That would suggest that thing started well, or went well in the middle," James said, shaking his head. "It's important to realize that I was a complete bastard at Hogwarts. If you start from there, the rest makes more sense." He glanced at Kim. "Except Hunter's taste in men. I have it on good authority that she only dates assholes. Which I suppose explains why I did better with her when I was still a wanker than once I grew up a bit."

"I don't _date_ anyone," Kim corrected.

"Sorry," Potter responded, smiling. "I have it on good authority that Hunter on _shags_ assholes."

Kim nodded. "That's probably fair."

Everyone but Moore looked at her in surprise. James, on the other hand, laughed. "You can't read too much into that," he said. "She thinks all men are assholes. Even Scorpius sometimes."

"That's also fair," Hunter agreed. She showed her teeth again. "When exactly are you going to leave?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Well," he said. "I see three possible options. 1, when you agree to come home with me. 2, when you agree to go out with me. Or 3, when you admit that the only reason you won't agree to options 1 or 2 is because you're terrified you'll become utterly besotted with me and never be able to recover."

Kim arched a brow. "Wow. So you never intend to leave The Hat and Hare." She nodded, as though impressed. "You might want to discuss accommodations with Terry then." And she nodded toward the bartender.

Moore chuckled at this. It was the first time he'd made any sort of a sound since Potter sat down. "Well," he said, "I've a long day ahead of me tomorrow." He gave the Eamon a pointed look.

"I think I'll stay for a few more," Eamon said, obviously unwilling to leave while Potter still sat at the table.

"Sure," Moore said, giving a casual shrug. "But if your arse is dragging tomorrow because you've had one too many, I'll let him eat you." His neutral tone made it a statement instead of a threat.

Kim saw Eamon lose some of his color. Then he looked between her and Potter. He stared at his hands for a moment, giving a defeated sigh. "I suppose I should be on my way as well."

Kim saw Aisling hurry to finish her drink. "Us too," she said, the moment she stopped gulping. She dragged a bemused Anna out of her seat and out the door.

Kim huffed out a breath. Leave it to her bloody employees to abandon her at a time like this. She should really dock their pay.

She shoved the White Russian toward him. "It's all yours," she said. "It never does for the supervisor to arrive after everyone else."

He nodded. "That sounds sensible," he said, rising from his chair.

"I'm not going home with you," she said for the third time.

He nodded again. "Fair enough," he agreed. Then he smiled. "But it's a dangerous city. And my honor demands that I walk you home."

She snorted at the word honor, making his smile widen. "And if my honor demands I break your nose?" Hunter asked sweetly, waving to the bartender.

He grinned at that. "Thousands of witches would curse your name."

"You're such an ass," she said.

He only shrugged, walking companionably beside her.

"I'm not walking you to my apartment," she told him.

He glanced over at her. "No, I think the idea was for _me_ to walk _you_ to _your_ apartment."

"My point is you aren't going there," she explained.

He cocked his head. "Why not?"

"Because only an idiot would show someone like you where they live," she told him.

He seemed to consider her statement for a minute. Then he shrugged and pushed her back against the building behind her. Before she could react appropriately, he was kissing her.

She meant to push him away, but instead she found herself gripping his shirt tightly. She had almost forgotten how well the boy could kiss, she thought. He changed the angle, and she stopped thinking entirely.

Then he pulled away, so their mouths were separated by mere inches. She noticed he was breathing heavily. She absolutely refused to acknowledge that she was as well.

"See, here's the thing," he said. "I want – very much – to not be a bastard this time around. But, that seemed to work pretty well last time, and I'm not actually sure how to-"

She closed the distance between them, kissing him hard. He pushed her back into the wall of the building again, hands sliding down her body and find the clasp to her trousers.

"Bloody hell," he swore, stopping again and setting his hands on the wall on either side of her head. He was careful not to touch her anywhere.

"Potter, I swear to God," she began, pressing her body against his.

"Somehow I don't think it's a good idea for us to shag in an alley a few blocks away from the bar you were at with a load of your colleagues," he said, sounding more than a little frustrated. "I think that would definitely fall into the bastard category."

She watched him for a moment, not sure how much she wanted to press the issue.

"You do live close to here, don't you?" he asked.

She eyed him suspiciously. "What makes you think that?"

He rolled his eyes. "You're practical. There's no way you'd be drinking at a pub with little to differentiate itself from any other pub unless it was near to home for you."

"I'm not bringing you to my home," she snapped.

"Why not?" he asked, sounding genuinely baffled.

"Because then you'll be coming around whenever you want a tumble," she told him.

He slid his hands slowly up her sides and trailed his mouth down her neck. "Is that such a bad thing?" he asked, scraping his teeth lightly over her skin and making her moan.

She felt him run his hands back down her body. He slipped one inside the waistband of her trousers, and then stopped. The part of her that could still think clearly knew he was struggling to decide how much was acceptable in the alley.

After a moment, he pulled his hands away and pressed them firmly into the wall. "Tell me honestly you don't want me," he said, looking at her seriously, "and I'll go."

She watched him without speaking. Every ounce of her concentration was focused on not rubbing herself against him.

"I travel a lot for quidditch," he said, trying to sound rational. "I won't even be in London that much."

He dropped his forehead to touch hers, let his lips find her own. And she lost the little bit of self control that had allowed her to hold herself away from him.

"Hunter, please," he said, pulling back and sounding a bit desperate.

She made an angry sound, then grabbed his hand. He had been right, of course. She lived only two streets over.

She strode up the stairs to her flat, trying to make herself angry enough to throw him. She refused to look at him, knowing he'd have a victorious expression on his face. She slid the key into her lock and turned it, concentrating far too much on the small action. When she finally glanced over at him, she was surprised to find he didn't appear to be gloating at all.

She opened the door and walked inside, allowing him to follow.

He looked around her little flat, evaluating it, and thought seriously about throwing him out. "This is nice," he said, smiling slightly. The smile widened into an evil grin. "Where's the bedroom?"

She watched him as she slowly walked backwards to the bedroom. He followed at the same pace. He kept his hands to himself right up until they got to the door. Then mostly he kept them on her.

* * *

He lay next to her, his arm draped across her body, his fingers tracing images on her skin. He wondered how she would go about getting rid of him. She had always been the one to leave, and he didn't feel any particular urge to do so.

"You should go," she said, sitting up.

He smiled to himself. She didn't seem to have changed very much. "Here's the thing," he said, scooting forward so he could drop a kiss on her neck. He worked his way up to just under her ear. "See, I'm going to be gone for a while, and there's no telling when or if you'll actually let me back in." He nibbled lightly on her ear. "So I'm thinking I should make the most of this opportunity."

"Uh-huh," she said. He thought she was trying to sound skeptical, but skepticism is a hard thing to pull off when you're moaning and gasping.

He shifted around and laid her down, figuring she wouldn't mind so much if he stayed just a bit longer.

* * *

"Potter," she said, pushing at him. "Seriously. You're heavy. You should go." He rolled sleepily off of her, but rather than leaving, he simply pulled her close against him. "Potter," she warned.

She hissed when she realized he had already fallen asleep. She looked at the clock. 4:00 am. She needed to be up in four hours. She could find a way to wake him up and force him to leave, but evidence tonight had shown he'd just find a way to shag her again. And then she'd be in the exact same position, with less time to sleep.

Annoyed, extracted herself from him and scooted as far away as possible. Then she curled in her little corner of the bed and went to sleep.

* * *

He woke when an awful noise started blaring in his ear. Blearily, he saw Hunter flailing at something on her night stand. He thanked Merlin when the horrible sound stopped.

Then he noticed how far away she was, and that he was still here. "I fell asleep," he said, feeling stupid for stating the obvious.

"Yeah," she said, getting up and walking into her bathroom without any further comment. He figured that was probably a bad sign.

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he rose to follow her. He didn't figure he had anything to lose. And a little morning fun in the shower might convince her having him stay the night was not the worst idea in the world.


	2. Will

"You sure you don't want to come out with us?" Andy asked.

James nodded. "Yeah, I'm for London tonight." He grinned. "I'm sure you'll do fine without me."

Phil laughed at that. "Sure, and we'll probably do better." He eyed James for a minute. "And I know you well enough to know there's not a lot that could stop you celebrating a win like we had tonight." He shook his head. "She must be quite a bird."

"Ah, I'm just knackered," James said, shrugging it off. "It was one hell of a win, wasn't it?"

"Sure, and all of it owed to me," Andy cut in modestly.

James laughed. "Tonight at least you've earned the right to have a bit of a brag. Merlin but that was good save. I thought we were done for certain when Pike got past Niall."

"So little faith in your keeper," Andy scolded, shaking his head.

James nodded seriously. "You're right. From now, we'll know to expect you to save every quaffle."

Andy just laughed, clapping James on the back and making his way out of the changing room with Phil. James gave them a quick wave, finished dressing, and apparated to London.

* * *

He glanced around the dilapidated building he had been using for the past month. Even if Hunter's flat hadn't been thoroughly protected, he'd never have apparated directly in. The girl may actually have gotten more prickly since Hogwarts.

James made his way quickly down the fire escape and over the three blocks to Hunter's place. He took the stairs at a measured pace, never knowing whether she would see him coming. It wouldn't do for her to think he rushed over to her place like some love sick puppy dog.

He knocked casually on the door, waiting patiently for her to open it. When she did, she looked sleep rumpled and annoyed.

"Hey," he said, trying a smile. Maybe he should have paid a _bit_ more attention to the time.

She rubbed sleep out of her eyes. "Do you have any idea how late it is?" she grumbled.

He winced apologetically. "I didn't think. I'm always amped when we take a close match."

She didn't look particularly impressed, so he moved quickly, stepping forward to kiss her before she could slam the door in his face. Once he was inside, she never really managed to kick him out. But she had left him out in the cold a number of times. Ah he kicked the door shut, he felt a familiar sense of relief. Tonight, at least, he could have her.

He hoisted her up, and she locked her legs around his waist. Staggering slightly, he shifted toward the wall, propping her against it. He managed to pull her shirt off between kisses. Quickly, he rid himself of his own clothing. He tried not to be frustrated that after a month of seeing her on a regular basis, he was every bit as frantic to have her as he had ever been.

Of course, he thought as she arched into him, he wasn't the only one.

* * *

Somehow they had ended up on the floor. He couldn't really remember the sequence of events that had led them there, but then he never really was in his right mind with her.

She shifted, turning her head to watch him. "I seem to recall you saying something about traveling a lot, and not being in London very often."

He turned his eyes toward the ceiling, resting a hand behind his head. "Well, it's not exactly my fault I associate you with quidditch. You're the one that brought lingerie into it, all those years ago."

She snorted. "That was if you lost. You show up ready to shag me even when you win."

James laughed at that. "Hunter, I'm ready to shag you 24-7. Honestly, you could be covered in sautéed mushrooms and rotting fish and it probably wouldn't have any effect."

He lifted her head to stare at him. "Sautéed mushrooms and rotting fish?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged. "I hate mushrooms. And I've never met anyone who likes the smell of rotting fish."

She let her head drop back down onto the floor. "Fair enough," she said after a moment. She was still draped halfway across him. He could feel her heart beating. And he felt the long sigh she gave. "What are the odds you're going home now?"

He grinned at her in answer.

She rolled onto her stomach, looking at him more seriously. "I need to sleep tonight. I have to work in the morning."

"Tomorrow's Saturday."

She shrugged. "I still have to work. And I can't be going in half dead because you wouldn't give me a moment's rest."

He studied her, thinking what an odd pair they made. She wasn't telling him to leave, because she'd learned over the last month that he simply took that as a challenge. But she had to say something, because challenge or no, he'd probably still keep her up quite late. After waking her up in the middle of the night.

He shifted his eyes to stare at the ceiling again. He thought he understood better why she hadn't wanted him to know where she lived. And he'd certainly proved her fear right.

But he didn't want to simply leave. He thought he'd made good progress, and he didn't want them to backslide. She barely ever made even a token protest anymore when he showed up out of the blue. She was practical enough to know she was going to end up letting him in anyway, and proud enough not to engage in a battle of will she knew she'd lose.

She let him sleep here now, too. Not like the first night, when she didn't so much let him as, well, not drag him sleeping out onto her doorstep and leave him there. She didn't comment on it, particularly. She didn't exactly invite him to stay, but she didn't seem like she cared that much. Though she did still basically ignore all his attempts to chat with her in the mornings.

"What time do you need to get up?" he asked.

He saw the annoyance in her eyes before she even voiced it.

"You figure it's up to you to decide how much sleep I need?" she snapped.

He shook his head. "No. But I'm less likely to keep you from it if I know what kind of time frame you're dealing with."

She showed her teeth. He could tell she was battling with herself. Wanting to shout at him to get out, but thinking she'd end up having a sleepless night if she did.

He sat up, slowly sliding a hand down her leg as he did. He leaned forward, following the same path with his mouth. "I'm not trying to fight with you," he said quietly. "I want you to get as much sleep as you need. But, as you've pointed out a number of times," he held her foot in his hand, stroking his thumb along the arch, "I'm a selfish bastard. And I go to America tomorrow for a friendly." He brought her foot up, used his mouth, made her moan. "And that's a long time to go without touching you. I want to make the most of the time you can give me, is all. Without taking more than you're able to share."

He took her leg, wrapping it around his waist as he leaned forward to kiss her. Her hips thrust automatically. He trailed his mouth along her jaw, moved a hand between them, found her so, so wet and slid a finger inside her. "What time do you need to wake up?" he asked again, scraping his teeth along the skin just under her ear.

He pulled his mouth away and watched her head fall back. He listened to the small noises she made as he used his hand to bring her close to the edge.

"Seven," she gasped out, hips jerking.

"Seven," he said, leaning down to kiss her again. He could work with that.

* * *

He lay on his side, lightly caressing her skin. They'd made it to the bed faster than they usually did. He had made an effort to let her get a good night's sleep. She had fallen asleep tangled up in him. He smiled slightly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. She didn't sleep curled up as far from him as possible anymore. He considered it one of his greatest successes.

He sighed, thinking back to earlier in the night. He could have just left. Almost did. But he didn't like missing these chances. He liked actually sleeping with her almost as much as he liked shagging her. In some ways more, since it was new. Proof that this time it was different. He was different.

She shifted, curling into him. He held his breath. He always did, until she settled. He didn't want to move wrong and send her scurrying for the far corner again.

Her breathing stayed even, though, and he exhaled slowly. He smiled to himself. He'd think the concern was ridiculous if it wasn't so valid. Still, all the effort was worth it. He got most of her nights. He just needed to figure out a way to get her to share any part of her days with him.

Carefully, he draped his arm over her. When she didn't pull away, he closed his eyes. He had the time. And he had the will. He just needed to find the way.


	3. Less and More

He woke to the sound of her horrible alarm. It was far and away the worst part about staying at her place. The sound was painful, blaring, hideous. Every morning.

He shifted onto his side, watched her roll out of bed and pad over to the bathroom. Smiling slightly to himself, he rose to follow.

Her eyes flicked over to his when he walked into the tiny room. She had already started the water, and had just opened the little shower door to step in.

He grinned. "Only, I was thinking it's really best if I don't go to America smelling like a changing room."

"I'm sure they'll appreciate your consideration," she responded drily.

His smile widened as he walked toward her. He slipped into the shower with her. "Is that your way of saying you wish I would shower before I come over?" he asked.

She shrugged and ignored him. An impressive feat, given that he was currently shampooing her hair.

"Hmmm . . . And why is it you have to work today?" he asked. He reached for the conditioner, but she slapped his hand away. He tried not to laugh at the arbitrary lines she drew.

Lifting a shoulder in bemused acquiescence, he grabbed the body wash. He saw a flicker of amusement in her eyes before she turned away to condition her hair.

"Is there a lot of charity work to be done on a Saturday morning?" he persevered.

She glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. "I expect there's charity work to be done at any given time on any given day," she said over the sound of the spray. He watched her turn to rinse her hair.

"Especially in the world of werewolves and nahuals and other such . . . animalist conditions?" he had trouble choosing the right words. "What do you call it anyway? Your particular field?"

She shrugged again, eying him. "There's not really a good name for it." She batted his hand away, when he reached to use the soap on her. "I don't remember telling you what I did."

He smiled at that. "Neither do I."

She glared at him, making him laugh.

"I do, on the other hand, remember Teddy telling me about it. Seems all his disposable income goes to an organization called Tapio's Children. He says it's the only charity that actually seeks to help people like werewolves – a cause particularly close to Teddy's heart – as opposed to simply trying to control them."

"I'm surprised anyone in your family would have anything good to say about one of the Malfoys' charities," she said, relenting enough to let him wash her back.

"Oh, they like the Malfoys' charities enough. The Malfoys themselves are a different story." He grinned at her when she turned to smack him. "I said the _Malfoys_. Scorpius, on the other hand, has been relatively well accepted. As has his mum. Draco . . ." he shrugged. "There's a lot of bad blood. You wouldn't really expect Scorpius to become my biggest fan, now would you? You can't expect anything more from my family."

He felt her shoulders move beneath his hands. He thought if she could communicate entirely by shrugs and raised eyebrows, she would.

"So, do you have some sort of a benefit today, then?" he asked, trying not to be annoyed he hadn't been invited.

She snorted. "Benefits are Aisling's domain. She only requires me to show up in something nice. And they don't usually start at 8:00 am on a Saturday morning."

He smiled at that. "I didn't realize employees could require their bosses to do anything."

"Aisling can. She can squeeze a galleon out of a rock. It's remarkable," she shook her head. "She's had more to do with whatever success we've had then anyone else."

James raised an eyebrow as he turned to shampoo his own hair. When she took the bottle from him, he went utterly still. She didn't seem to notice, though, and calmly went about washing his hair. "I would think you had a little to do with it," James said carefully.

Hunter shrugged. "In the starting, maybe. And the . . . philosophy." She seemed to think about it. "The technique, as well, if you like. But the continued operation, that's all Aisling. She's bloody priceless."

"Teddy mentioned speaking to Eamon when he wanted to donate," James said, not quite making it a question.

Hunter laughed. "Sure, and I expect being the son of a werewolf, he's probably not particularly well off. Eamon takes the smaller donations. Aisling handles the big ones."

She grinned at James, who knew he had a bewildered expression on his face. He couldn't decide if he was offended or not.

"Don't worry," she said. "If you ever decide to donate, you'll rate Aisling."

"Because I'm somehow better than Teddy?" James asked, deciding he was offended after all.

She shook her head, obviously amused. "Because you have more money than him. Money doesn't have anything to do with quality. But it's the resource we need. And Aisling can get more out of a person than they intended to give. So, if Teddy walks in with the intention to give fifty galleons, she might be able to get one hundred out of him." She slid a hand down his chest, shifted him into the spray. "Which is very generous, proportional to what he might make on a monthly basis." She grinned. "Especially if he gives that much on a regular basis. A lot of our donations are less than a hundred galleons, because that's as much as most people can manage. And . . ." she shrugged, reaching for the soap, "the reality is the wealthy are less likely to give to us than the poor. They're more likely to have tried to hide any connection they have to werewolves, and want nothing to do with the whole topic."

She turned him, lathering up one arm, across his chest, and down the other arm. "But, when we do have someone wealthy come in, we give them to Aisling. Because if they walk in intending to give one thousand galleons, which may be little compared to what they _could_ give, she can often talk them up to ten thousand or twenty thousand. Last month she secured a fifty thousand galleon anonymous donation. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get someone to donate fifty thousand galleons, if they aren't going to receive any accolades for it?"

She shrugged again as she pushed him back under the spray. "So, we give the heftier accounts to Aisling, though Eamon helps with them as well. He is, after all, of the proper birth. And we give most of the smaller accounts to Eamon, so he can cut his teeth on them." She rolled her eyes. "Though he has a mind to cut his teeth on other things. And all the training in the world likely won't turn him into any sort of finder."

"That's what Moore does?" James asked, rinsing himself off. He thought he might have pushed her too hard, as she gave him a suspicious look. He shrugged. "I remember him from the bar that night. He seemed . . . harder than the others. Certainly more experienced."

"Ay," Hunter said, reaching past him to turn off the spray. She stepped out of the shower and reached immediately for a towel, drying herself efficiently. James did the same.

"And what does a finder do?" James asked, unable to help himself.

She gave him a disgusted look. "Finds."

"Finds what?" he persevered.

She only looked at him, her disgust obvious.

"People with . . . animalistic conditions?" he asked.

She snorted at his repeated use of the term. "If you like," she said.

He watched her smooth lotion over her skin, becoming quickly distracted.

"Oh no," she said, catching his look. "I haven't the time today."

"You haven't said what you're going to do," he pointed out as he paced toward her.

She looked ready to protest, and then seemed to think better for it. When he lifted her up onto the sink, she wrapped her legs around his waist. "I'm going to help secure a new resident."

He paused, hands stroking down her back. "Is that safe?"

She raised an eyebrow at him.

He dropped his mouth to hers, kissing her slowly. "Moore's a good finder?" he asked, after a moment.

She gave a throaty laugh. "I think Moore might be entertained to find it's him your thinking of at a moment like this."

"I'm thinking I'd feel better if I knew he could take care of you." He regretted the words the moment he spoke them. They definitely weren't something she'd want to hear.

"And do you think," she said, drawing her nails slowly down his chest, "I'm not capable of caring for myself?"

He glanced down, saw that she'd raised welts, but drawn no blood. "I think I've an image of you in chains getting backhanded by a bit of pure-blooded scum that'll stay with me the rest of my life." She hesitated too long, apparently unable to decide how to react to his statement. He took the opportunity to bring his mouth back to hers.

He felt tension ease across his shoulders when her arms came around his neck. He shifted, slid inside her. Merlin, but the woman drove him insane. There had to be something wrong with him, that the only person in the world who would never accept soft words from him was the only one he wanted to give them to. Even now, with her angry with him for the little bit he'd said, he wanted to tell her he'd miss her. He wanted to beg her to be careful, make her promise to come back to him safe.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to hold his tongue. Instead he contented himself with soaking her in, glorying in the feel of her body wrapped around his, the sound of her breath catching. With Hunter, less was always more.


	4. Choice

_Weeks later_

* * *

He lay next to her, trailing a finger slowly up and down her back. He could feel her tension. She didn't want him there tonight. He held back a sigh. He still couldn't really tell if she wanted him there at all.

"You could always come to mine," he offered quietly, unsure if he should have spoken at all.

She shifted to face him. "Excuse me?"

"If you want to be in control of the . . . timeframe. You could come over to my house. Then you wouldn't have to worry about finding a way to throw me out that didn't result in my trying to shag you senseless again," he explained.

"Or you could just go when I ask you to," she responded.

He nodded. Leaning forward, he dropped a quick kiss on her shoulder. Then he rose and walked over to her dresser, picked up a piece of scratch paper and a pencil – so much more convenient than a quill – and scribbled on it.

"This is my address," he said, handing it to her. When she didn't reach for it, he set it on her night stand. He took a deep breath. "I'm not very good at telling what you want from what you don't want. What you'll be happy with from what will piss you off. So I'll leave it to you. If you want to come around, you can. And go when it pleases you. If you don't . . ." he shrugged, trying not to look as helpless as he felt. "I'll try very hard to stay away."

He looked at her, watching him in that serious way she did. Unable to help himself, he leaned down to kiss her. He tried to keep it light, but found himself sinking in. He had an awful feeling he'd made a mistake. That she'd never come to him. With an effort, he pulled back.

"The choice is yours," he said, tucking a bit of hair behind her ears and stepping away. He felt physically ill as he walked to the door, aware of her eyes on him as he opened it, stepped out, and quietly shut it behind him. He made it all the way down her steps before he looked back. Bloody hell. He was an idiot. He thought he'd always be an idiot where she was concerned.

* * *

_A/N: I know, I know. Shortest chapter ever. I should get the next one up within a day or so (depending on how difficult the site is being - has anyone else been having problems with it?). Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. And fair warning to anyone waiting on Scorpius and Rose, it'll be a while before they come into it. _


	5. Rabid

_ Bloody, buggering James Potter_, she thought. He had to be the most insufferable human being on the planet. First he strolls back into her life, calm as you like, telling her he wants her to go home with him. Then he manages to twist it around so he can worm his way into _her_ apartment, not to mention back into her _bed_. Promising he'll never be around and then showing up every bloody night.

Then he stops. Altogether just drops out of the picture.

She glared at the piece of paper on her night stand. She hadn't looked at it. Well, hadn't touched it. She'd looked at it far more than she wanted to admit.

She gritted her teeth. She'd been content. She'd gotten out of the habit of shagging on a regular basis. She'd lost her taste for partying after she'd been . . . taken. And she'd largely given up sex at the same time. Not entirely, mind. But, mostly. She didn't date, and she didn't bother with much in the way of one nighters any more. And that left her without any good options for sex. Which was fine. She'd adjusted to it well enough. For the most part.

And then bloody, buggering James Potter had to wander into her bar and get her used to it again.

She hissed at the paper and flung herself onto her back on the bed. She didn't know why it bothered her so much. At first she'd decided to just find someone else. A one off would ease the tension that had built in her.

But, without a thick coating of alcohol, she was much pickier. And she kept herself away from most people that would appeal to her more . . . animalistic instincts. She found herself smiling at the phrase. And then immediately stopped. She didn't like that he could make her smile.

She closed her eyes, telling herself it was stupid to be so opposed to going to him. He'd offered it casually enough. She thought it would be easy. He'd make it easy. She would knock on his door; he'd smile at her. Pull her inside. Kiss her.

She scraped her teeth over her lip. God, but it was frustrating how much she wanted him to kiss her.

She closed her eyes, imagining the feel of his mouth, his teeth, his tongue. She trailed her fingers across the exposed skin of her stomach, brought them up toward her chest, tank top dragging along with them.

She growled low, annoyed at how little her hands felt like his. She clenched her teeth, lifting both arms above her head. It would be so much easier to go to him if she didn't _want_ to so badly.

She glared at the ceiling, envisioning another night unsatisfied. Another day snapping at everyone and everything.

In a swift move, she rolled off the bed, caught up the paper, and made for the door. She paused long enough to pull on a coat to cover the thin tank top and shorts she wore.

She hurried down her steps and out into the street. Flagging down the first taxi she saw, she gave him the address. And then she leaned her head against the seat, wondering how much he'd gloat.

By the time she pulled up to his place, she'd nearly talked herself into telling the cab driver to turn around. Nearly.

She paid the man and slid out of the cab, walking quickly up to the darkened house. It was late, but the man had woken her up often enough when he'd had an itch that she didn't feel the slightest twinge of guilt.

She knocked on the door, waiting impatiently for him to appear. After a few moments, she banged her fist against it again.

She hugged her arms to herself. She was half dressed, standing outside his house in the cold, and he wasn't bloody there. She nearly screamed in frustration.

Turning on her heel, she strode toward the street, ready to find the first alley she could and apparate back to her flat. She'd just have to live with the knowledge that she'd bloody well given in to James Bloody Potter and he hadn't even bothered to be there to take his prize.

"Hunter?"

Halfway down his steps, she looked over at him. She was breathing hard, still angry.

"I was . . ." he shrugged. "Sorry. I was out." He sounded unsure, almost awkward.

She stared at him, seriously considered shouldering him out of the way. Of course, that was worse than admitting defeat. That was admitting defeat _and_ fury that he hadn't been there.

He walked carefully past her, up the stairs. He did not touch her at all, not even a brush of cloth on cloth.

He unlocked the door, letting it swing wide. "Do you want to come in?" he asked, watching her carefully.

She imagined turning her back on him. Imagined ripping the paper up and throwing it at his feet. Imagined going home and screaming in frustration that she still hadn't gotten any relief.

She walked past him. She was very nearly calm. All the way into the house. She watched him shut the door, turn to her. She gave him at least two breaths before she attacked him.

It was the only word for it. She felt rabid. There was more biting than kissing. More bruising than stroking. But he responded. God, but she had to give the man credit. He always responded the way she needed him to.

He slammed her back against the door, kissing her every bit as desperately as she did him. His hands tore at her coat, and she let it drop. He stopped when he saw how little she wore.

She watched him take several deep breaths. "Right," he said. "We-"

"I swear to God, James Potter, if you try to talk I'm going to rip you to pieces," she growled at him.

He nodded. "Right," he said, lifting her and pinning her back against the door again. She wrapped her legs around him, moaned when he ground himself into her. "No, talking then." She barely heard him.

She felt his mouth on her jaw, her neck. Felt him shift her, hoist her up higher. When his mouth closed over her through her tank top, she made an inhuman sound. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. Her hips moved of their own accord.

She thought he'd take her against the door, but he brought his hands down to her hips and held her more securely. Then he began to walk her back to the other side of the house.

"Bed," he told her hoarsely. "I want you in bed."

She nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see. She didn't care where. She just needed it now. Needed him now.

He tumbled her onto a massive bed, crawling on after her. The man was still wearing far too many clothes.

She reached for them, but he caught her wrists. "Not yet," he said.

He brought his mouth back to hers, and her objections died on a moan. His hands moved down, dragged her shirt over her head. Slid the shorts down her hips. Found her skin. God, they felt better than she remembered.

He was driving her insane, out of her mind. She was moaning, begging. "Please. Please, God." She arched into him.

"Not yet," he breathed.

His mouth moved down, brought her screaming over the edge.

It wasn't enough. Merlin, it wasn't enough. She dragged him back up, let her fingers find the snap of his trousers. God, but she was so frantic she could barely manage to get them down. This time he helped her instead of preventing her.

She wrapped her fingers around him. "Now," she gasped. "Please, God, now. I need you inside me now."

He might have nodded. She wasn't sure. But he listened. She felt him drive into her, clutched at the muscles in his back, and lost what was left of her mind.


	6. Careful

He'd collapsed on top of her. He knew he should move, but he wasn't sure he could. He rested his forehead against hers, listened to their heartbeats mingle. "I thought I'd go mad if I couldn't have you soon."

She seemed to be struggling to catch her breath. He thought he'd never seen her so unstrung.

"I played shite quidditch all month. Absolute shite." He shook his head. Then he smiled slightly. "Any chance I can talk you into getting out that lingerie again?" he asked. "It's only fair."

She laughed at that. He traced his thumb just under her lower eyelashes. His felt dampness on his skin. He'd never seen her cry. Really hadn't now either. But he'd taken her apart. They'd take each other apart.

Marshalling all his strength, he rolled, shifting their positions. He loved having her stretched out on top of him.

He tried to think clearly. He shouldn't have drawn attention to the tears. That would only send her scurrying. And he didn't want that. After all, she had come to his place. He needed to handle this carefully.

"I didn't think you would come," he said. That had probably been stupid, he thought. He was aiming for careful. Merlin, but he needed to get himself together.

She didn't say anything. He could feel her breathing, feel the rise and fall of her chest where his hands stroked her back.

"If it makes you feel any better, I bolted from a party when I realized you were here. Made a complete fool of myself."

She raised her head and gave him a questioning look, but didn't speak.

"I had set . . . alarms, you might call them. To alert me if you came." He trailed his fingers lightly down her back. "I was sure if you came once, and I wasn't here, you wouldn't do it again."

She laid her head back down on his chest. "Wouldn't do to miss your big win."

He went still. "It's not a game Hunter. It wasn't a power play."

She shifted, rolling off of him. He tried not to panic. "I mean it," he said. "I wasn't trying to make you come to me."

She gave him an eloquent look.

"I wasn't. I don't give a flying fuck if we're here or in your flat or in a fucking alleyway. I just-" he raked his fingers through his hair. "I don't know how to tell what you want. And I'm trying very hard not to-" he broke off, making a frustrated noise. "I don't want to be a bastard this time, Hunter. It's important to me that I not be how I was."

He looked at her, feeling like an idiot. "I thought, this way you could decide, you know. I'm not so good at self-control. If you tell me to leave . . ." he shrugged. "It gets my back up, and I want to make you change your mind. But if we're here, and you decide to go, I think I'd be different. I mean, that's how it was in school. You'd come and go as you liked."

She raised an eyebrow. "You put yourself in my way constantly."

"Well, yeah." He felt a bit sheepish. "I'm trying to follow more rules this time."

She gave him an odd look.

"I mean. Well, you know, to avoid doing things I know you won't like. So, I stay away from you in public."

"You always did that."

"Yeah, but before it was about what I wanted. Now it's about what you want." He rolled his shoulders. "What I think you might want."

She gave him an appraising look. "What other rules have you put in place for yourself?"

"Well, umm. . . getting you to invite me in, was one of them."

She snorted at that. "Have you confused yourself with a vampire?"

He shrugged. "I thought about finding you, about just showing up. But then, I thought you wouldn't like it."

"So instead you came looking for me in a bar?" she sounded annoyed.

"No. I didn't look for you at all. I didn't think you'd want me to. I just went into the bar for a drink. And you were there." He made a helpless gesture. "How was I supposed to not approach you?"

She didn't say anything.

"Anyway, I tried to think whether or not you'd be ok with anything happening in the alley. Do you have _any_ idea how hard it was to stop myself?"

"And give me an ultimatum about going to my place."

"It wasn't an ultimatum. And whatever you like to pretend, you _do_ want me."

"Is that what this was about?" she asked, giving him a cold look. "Proving that I wanted you."

He shook his head. "I honestly wasn't sure you'd ever come here. But I thought, well, if she doesn't, then that's my answer. She doesn't really want me, and I should be a decent bloke and stop coming around."

He crossed over to her, feeling both relief and annoyance. She didn't pull away, but she didn't look happy, either.

He tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, let his fingers trace her jaw line and come to rest on her chin. He tilted it slightly, angling her mouth, and leaned down to kiss her.

"Is it such a bad thing?" he asked quietly, between kisses. He was conscious that her answer might be different if he'd still been on the other side of the room.

As it was, she still didn't speak. But she kissed him back, and let him lead her over to the bed again. And that was enough. For now, at least, it had to be enough.


	7. Late

_Months Later_

* * *

He woke to a knock on his door. He thought he knew who waited on his step. He glanced at the clock. It was late for her. Normally, if she wasn't here before 1:00 am, she didn't show at all.

He rose, tugging on some trousers, and walked over to his door. When he opened it, she stood in the rain, looking unsure. He could almost see the apology forming on her lips, in her eyes, before she stifled it. No, she wouldn't apologize for waking him. He'd done it often enough to her. And, as a rule, she didn't apologize to him for anything. Really, he thought she seldom apologized to anyone for anything.

"Hi," he said. His voice sounded rough, still half asleep.

"It's late," she said. He felt his smile quirk. He thought that might have almost been an apology.

He shrugged, throwing the door wide and stepping back to let her in.

"We're you still working?" he asked, surprised at how exhausted she looked. He kept the concern out of his voice.

She dragged her fingers through her hair. "Yeah," she said. "It was a long day."

He nodded. He looked toward the kitchen. "Are you hungry?"

She shook her head, rubbing her arms for warmth. "I can go," she offered.

He raised an eyebrow. She looked vulnerable. She _never_ looked vulnerable. He wanted – very badly – to ask what had happened in her long day to put that look in her eyes, that hunch in her shoulders. But he didn't. She wasn't sure she wanted to be here, wasn't sure he wanted her to be here. He wouldn't give her a reason to bolt.

"I'd like to meet the man that finds you on his doorstep and sends you away," he said, voice light.

She didn't smile. He couldn't interpret the look she gave him. Instead, he reached out and grasped the front of her shirt. Walking backwards, he pulled her into his bedroom. Maybe she'd be willing to talk later.

* * *

She hadn't talked, of course. But she slept, curled into him. He traced the line of her cheek bone, concerned at her pallor. He wondered if she had eaten that day. He reached for his wand and muttered a quick spell that would wake him early enough to make her breakfast.

He'd had months to learn the best ways to deal with her. She'd balk if he asked if she had eaten, annoyed that he thought she couldn't care for herself. But if the food was already there, especially if she woke to the smell of it, then she would eat it. When he offered to cook for her, she declined. But if he simply made it, and ate it, and had enough left for her, she accepted.

He smiled slightly to himself, pleased at how often it happened. For a while, she had come to his house only occasionally. He thought she might have made rules for herself, as he did for himself. Never two days in a row, it had seemed. At least at first. And _never_ to sleep. But then something had changed. He thought maybe she had gotten annoyed with herself for drawing arbitrary lines. She had probably decided that not going when she wanted to was acknowledging the power he had.

He snorted to himself. As though he had any power where she was concerned. He shifted, settling in, pulling her closer. She had started coming around most nights. Started letting herself fall asleep. More, she had stopped being furious with herself when she couldn't help falling asleep. Stopped forcing herself to leave when she only wanted to lay there tangled up with him.

She talked now, too. It had happened gradually. She didn't exactly spill her secrets to him, but she talked about her life. He knew about the people she worked with. Knew about her frustrations, her triumphs.

He smiled again. She knew about his, as well. She seldom asked, but she listened if he talked. And he did, without really meaning to.

His mind drifted back to her appearance tonight. He wondered if she had fought with herself. If she had wanted to come here, to seek comfort. And if she had tried to stop herself. He wondered if she would tell him in the morning.


	8. Progress

_The next morning_

* * *

She woke to the smell of bacon. God, she loved bacon. He made it remarkably well, too. Exactly the right amount of crispiness.

She rolled out of bed and glanced at her clothes. They'd been damp last night. And then she'd left them in a heap. Annoyed with herself, she grabbed one of his shirts instead. It was a white button down dress shirt. She didn't fully understand his preference for muggle clothes, but she appreciated it. The man knew how to dress.

She did up a few of the buttons as she walked into his beautiful kitchen.

He glanced over at her, giving her a long, appraising look. She hated when he looked at her like that. Like he was measuring her well-being.

"Late night last night," he said, turning back to the stove.

She hated that too. Whenever he wanted to know something she didn't want to tell him, he pretended to be casual about it. She considered ignoring him, and then decided it would be childish. Especially if she intended to stay for the bacon. She shrugged instead.

She thought she saw a slight smile tug at the corner of his lips. She picked up a piece of the bacon he had cooling on a plate on the table. Taking a delicate bite, she wondered what his next move would be.

"Did you have trouble securing a new resident?" he asked. "I didn't think Moore had found anyone recently."

She shook her head, kept her voice empty. "One of our formers was attacked."

He turned around fully to look at her. "By a dark wizard?" he asked.

She snorted. "It's amazing how you can still see everything so black and white." She shook her head. "By a wizard, sure. But I expect he considered himself more of a vigilante, protecting the innocent where the ministry failed to intervene." She took a deliberate bite of the bacon, annoyed that some of the pleasure had gone out of it. "Werewolves are dangerous beasts, after all."

"Is he ok?" he asked. "Your former resident?"

"Yes. He's as well as can be expected, all things considered." She shrugged. "We've moved him to a safe house for the moment."

He nodded. "Did they catch the attacker?"

"Yes."

"And he'll be sent to Azkaban," he made it a statement.

She shrugged. "I doubt it."

He stared at her. "He attacked someone without cause. Of course he'll be tried for it."

"He'll be tried. But most people consider werewolves cause enough all on their own."

"That's bollocks," he said, turning back to the stove. He shifted the eggs around with more force than necessary, making her smile.

Finishing off her bit of bacon, she rose and walked over to him. "Poor, James," she said, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Always so disappointed to find that good doesn't always triumph over evil."

He had gone still, and she regretted teasing him. He was right of course, the bastard should be punished. But she'd seen enough of the world to know it didn't work that way, and wishing didn't make it so.

She felt him take a deep breath. "Is there nothing that can be done?" he asked in an odd voice.

She shrugged, letting him go and stepping away to lean against the counter. "Aisling wants to branch out into politics," she said.

He raised his eyebrows, watching her with that unfathomable look. "Politics?"

She nodded. "She thinks we need to change how the law views our kind." She shrugged again, watching him dish out the eggs and toast. "It's an odd situation, as we aren't really people or animals."

"You're people," he returned, a shocking depth of anger in his voice.

She tilted her head considering him. "Sort of. We're neither, really. We're . . . else. Bits of both. All of neither." She raked her fingers through her hair. "And then, with each person-"

"_Person,_ see?" he declared. "You're people."

She smiled slightly. "With each individual, then. With each one, it's different. We've had werewolves thrown out on their own who sought animals as companions, and became more animal than human. Whereas, an individual raised well among humans might have only small differences, or only really experience them when they're in their other form."

He stared at her for a moment. "Do you think, if you'd run off to the jungle, that you'd be all jaguar then?"

She shrugged. "Never all. But most. You can choose, in large part. But the longer you live as something, the more that . . . form becomes dominant."

He grinned. "Which means I was right to go with person."

"For me, yes."

"And Aisling," he said.

She smiled, watching him. "What makes you think Aisling has another form?"

He shrugged. "For a while I didn't realize any of them did. Then I thought all of them did. Somewhere along the way, I realized it's neither. You've more . . . unusual employees than most, but it has more to do with supply than demand. You'll hire someone without any . . ."

"Afflictions?" she suggested, taking a seat and digging into his lovely breakfast.

"That makes it sound like an illness," he responded in an annoyed voice, making her laugh again. "Anyway, my point is, you aren't only trying to hire people who are . . . else. You're organization simply attracts them, for obvious reasons. I think you hire the best person for the job, regardless of their . . ."

"Humanity?"

He glared at her, but she soothed him with a kiss. "You're so much quicker to defend us than we are ourselves."

He shrugged. "You are human."

"Are you concerned about what it would make you if I wasn't?"

His eyes widened and she nearly fell over, she laughed so hard.

"I swear in Merlin's name, I never thought of that at all."

After quite a while, she managed to calm herself. He was watching her, clearly amused. She liked that he didn't get offended when she laughed at him.

"You look so disturbed by the idea," she said after a minute. "Should I take that as a sign that you wouldn't shag me in my other form?"

His expression sent her into another fit of laughter.

When she settled, he was eying her with far less amusement. "I'm teasing," she told him. "I'd be more likely to eat you in that form."

"Ay," he said. "Do you . . ." he trailed off.

She shook her head. "Not a lot of jaguar's in these parts," she told him. "And I can't say I'm sorry for it. I don't know for certain what would have happened when I was young. But for the most part, I still think the same way. And if you're wondering, no, watching jaguar's mate on the Discovery Channel does not get me all worked up."

He nodded, seeming relieved. "OK."

She quickly finished off the last of her meal. "I have to go," she said. She rose to go deal with her clothes. She'd be best off simply transfiguring them into new, dry, fresh smelling clothes.

"Hunter," he called. She glanced back at him. He was putting the dishes into his sink. "There's an extra key on my dresser," he said. He shrugged, turning to cast the spell that would set the dishes to washing themselves. "It would save me having to get up, when you've a mind to use me for a bit of pleasure in the middle of the night."

She stared at his back for a minute. He didn't seem to expect a response, so she didn't give one. Instead, she simply walked into the bedroom. She quickly transfigured her clothes and dressed. Unable to help herself, she glanced at his dresser. She spotted the key right away.

What the hell was she supposed to do about that? She walked over to the bathroom, using it quickly. She washed her hands, checked her reflection. She looked pale again. Impatient, she dragged her hair up into a pony tail. It only increased the fragile look.

Annoyed, she turned to leave.

* * *

After she left, he walked into the bedroom, sure he'd find the key exactly where he'd left it. He had gotten ahead of himself. She didn't want a bloody key to his place.

He couldn't help himself, though. It was stupid for her not to have one. She was here most every night. And sometimes they needed to leave at different times in the morning. She shouldn't have to get up early on a Saturday just because he had a match.

He walked over to the dresser and stared at it. Then he closed his eyes, slowly breathing in and out. He felt his smile spread. She had taken it.

He had to resist the urge to jump around in a happy dance. He did allow himself one fist pump. Now _this_ was progress.


	9. Stupidly So

James unlocked his door, feeling exhausted. Sometimes he thought he'd rather a loss than the sort of grueling match they had played that day. It was an ugly game followed by an ugly win. All he wanted was to fall into bed and sleep until he forgot it entirely.

He walked into his living room and dropped his quidditch bag on the floor. Not bothering to turn on the lights, he made his way to his bedroom in the dark. He stopped when he saw a familiar shape in his bed.

Allowing his eyes time to adjust, he looked at her. Curled on her side of the bed – he smiled at the thought – lay Hunter. Quietly, James undressed. He pulled back the covers, ready to slide into bed and off to sleep. Then he stopped. He blinked. Though there was almost no light by which to see, he could swear she was wearing one of his t-shirts.

He reached out and gently felt the fabric. She had used her key, which she seldom did. And, finding him gone, she had decided to stay. Not just stay, but put on one of his shirts and sleep in his bed.

Unable to stop himself, he leaned over and kissed her lightly. She mumbled in her sleep, shifting slightly. He saw her eyes blink open.

"Hey," she said.

He rested his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry," he told her. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's ok," she murmured, one hand rising up to touch his face. He could just make out the curve of her lips in the dark, the slight smile. "Does this mean you won or lost?"

"Does it matter?" he asked.

"Mmm . . ." she mumbled, pulling his head back down to kiss him. "Only to your fans."

He thought she meant him to laugh, but he hadn't quite recovered from finding her sleeping in his bed, in his shirt. Instead, he sank into the kiss.

He felt her pull back slightly, felt her hesitation. Her fingers trailed over his cheek, and he knew she studied him. "Are you alright?" she asked.

He nodded, pressing his forehead to hers again and willing himself to be careful. "Yeah. It's just . . ." he shrugged in the dark. "You're wearing my shirt."

She didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "It's more comfortable than mine."

He nodded, shifting slightly to kiss her neck. "It looks good on you."

He crawled down her to sit between her legs, one hand running slowly up the long, clean line of her. His mouth slowly followed the path his hand laid.

"You can't possibly tell in the dark," she said, her fingers tangling in his hair.

He didn't bother to respond with words.

* * *

They slept spooned together. Well, she slept. He couldn't stop rebuking himself for making such a big deal of the shirt. She hadn't said anything else about it, but she probably thought he was ridiculous. Or insane. Or worst of all, completely and totally in love with her.

She shifted slightly, mumbling something. He took a moment to simply breathe her in.

He had always been careful how he described his feeling for her. Even to himself. He was fascinated. Interested. Maybe even obsessed. Never in love. He sighed. As though refusing to acknowledge the problem fixed it.

He was in love with her. Absolutely, positively, madly in love with her. Stupidly so.

There were thousands of girls who would have been happy to have him, who would have been easy to love. Instead he falls for the one girl who doesn't particularly want him – or at least doesn't want to want him – and is anything but easy.

His hand gently traced the path from her shoulder to her finger tips. In her sleep, she twined her fingers with his.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to believe he could bring around. She had used her key, after all, and put on one of his shirts, and gone to sleep in his bed. All without him there to manipulate her into it.

She wanted him now. Maybe even needed him. And it wasn't such a big step from want and need to love.

* * *

_A/N Alls I'm saying is I should get some mad props for how many updates I've done recently. Course, the reverse of that is also true. So feel free to berate me for how seldom I've updated in the past few months. _

_PS - So you don't think I'm ungrateful (and also cause my mama taught me manners), thanks very much to everyone who has reviewed :-)  
_


	10. Furious

_Weeks Later_

* * *

James walked into his empty apartment, trying to stifle the concern. She wasn't there. Hadn't been there at all since he'd gotten back from Scotland. The first day, when she didn't show, he didn't worry too much. She didn't spend every night there, though it was a near thing.

The second day, he worried about it. He checked into it, found that she had been at work as usual. So one fear evaporated, while another solidified. She wasn't in danger, but she _was_ avoiding him.

The third day, he felt his frustration sharpen. If he had done something to piss her off, she damn well should have said something. Instead, she simply disappeared from his life.

He growled to himself, turning and walking straight back out the door. Well, he bloody well knew where she lived. And he'd get a damn answer, if nothing else.

He apparated to the old building he used to use as an access point to her flat. He found it had changed substantially. They never stayed at her place now, so he hadn't had need of it in months. Apparently, someone had purchased the old building. He recognized the signs of renovation.

He walked purposefully out of the building and up her steps. He banged on the door. She didn't answer. He could see a light on, knew she was inside, knew she was ignoring him.

"Hunter?" he shouted, furious. "Will you bloody come out here?" She didn't respond. Naturally. "If you don't, we're going to have this conversation through your goddamn door, because I am _not _leaving until you answer me."

She opened the door, vibrating with anger. "What conversation is that? I've nothing to say to you."

He pushed his way inside, despite her protests.

She glared at him. "It's nice to see how well you meant it, only doing what I want."

"It can't be all you, all the time, Hunter," he snapped. "You don't get to just walk away without a word."

"Walk away from what, Potter?" He tried not to hiss at the renewed use of his surname.

"Us."

She made a disbelieving noise. "Us? I think you must have taken one too many bludgers to the head. There was never any us."

"You can chuck your semantics off a bloody cliff," he shouted. "You stayed at my house every goddamn night for months. There sure as bloody hell _was_ an us."

She shrugged. "Somehow I don't think you believe that any more than I do," she said. The chill in her voice gave the lie to the shrug. "You're just sore I've wounded your pride."

"Yes, _that's_ what I'm concerned about at the moment. My pride," he snorted. "I haven't had any bloody _pride_ where you're concerned in years."

She only looked at him. "Are you done? I'd like to sleep now."

"I want a goddamn answer."

"Oh please. You wanted me to find her. You gave me a goddamn key. What kind of an imbecile would give a woman a key and then get all shocked when she finds out he's shagging anything that can move?"

He blinked. "Shagging what?" he asked, stupidly.

He took a step back when her eyes flashed, raising his hands in defense. "I swear, I've no idea what you're talking about. The only person I've shagged in months is you."

She was vibrating again. He thought she was struggling not to attack him.

"Right," she responded through clenched teeth. "I hallucinated the naked whore waiting for you on your bed."

He stared at her, trying to process the words. "Do you mean whore literally or-" he broke off when she made a sound very close to a scream and chucked a glass at him.

"Merlin, Hunter. I don't know what you're talking about. Why would I be shagging someone else if I have you?"

"You're a professional quidditch player, remember," she returned scornfully. "You say your name and women throw themselves at your feet. I can't imagine why I didn't realize what you were earlier."

"What I am?" he began. Then he made the connection. "Blond?" he asked. "About this tall?" he gestured in the air.

"No idea what I was talking about?" she mocked in a cold voice.

"I know who she is, but I didn't invite her into my goddamn house. And I sure as hell haven't shagged her."

He saw her eyes slide toward the vase on the table next to her. He raised his hands and rushed on. "I'm a professional quidditch player. You're right about women throwing themselves at my feet. I won't pretend that wasn't a perk for a while, but I was _never_ interested in her sort. They're not just impressed that you play quidditch, they're looking to shag quidditch players. They hang about after matches, send you their knickers in the post. They're . . ." he made a helpless gesture. "I dunno. Sad. Pathetic, like. I've never had an interest in them. I know who she is. She's tried to get me to sign various body parts any number of times, sent me photographs of her doing . . . graphic things. She's not my cup of tea."

She looked unconvinced. But she had let her hand drop, and no longer vibrated with fury.

"Honestly, Hunter. Think about it. I'm not stupid." At her snort, he shrugged. "I can be an arse, but I'm not actually _stupid_. Think about how much trouble I got up to at Hogwarts without getting caught."

"That's your defense?" She sounded angry again.

"My point is, if I was after shagging other women, why would I give you a key? Bloody hell. I could have orgies every night if I wanted to. I don't. I want you." He raked his fingers through his hair, leaving it spiking out in odd directions. "How can you not believe that? I had the option to shag you, just shag you. Nothing else. You'd have been more comfortable with that. Do you have any idea how hard I had to work to get you to _talk _to me? To sleep with me? Actually _sleep_. To sit down and eat a meal with me?"

He saw the anger shift. Saw it turned to wariness. "James."

"Don't. You don't get to pull back now and act like it's nothing. You were _furious_. You thought I shagged someone else, and you were furious."

She opened her mouth, glanced at the wreckage her dishware had made, and closed it again.

"It matters. I matter." He walked toward her. She backed up.

"Merlin, Hunter. I'm not looking for a bloody vow here." He stopped, taking a deep breath. "I'm not looking for anything. I'm saying that there's no way I've been off shagging other women when I have you. And if I liked them easy – like your new friend – I sure as hell wouldn't be standing here right now."

"So I'm difficult because I didn't like the idea of you shagging nasty old slags?"

He smiled. "You're difficult because you're you. The other is completely understandable. I don't like the idea of you shagging nasty old slags either."

She gave a strange sort of choked laugh, and he felt some of the tension ease out of his shoulders.

"I wish you would have just talked to me about it," he told her quietly.

She shrugged uncomfortably. "It seemed fairly cut and dry."

"Yeah," he said. "I can see that. I probably would have felt the same."

She smiled slightly. "At least now I know how to get rid of you, if I want to."

He considered the scenario, shoulders hunching. "You know how I said I don't have a lot of pride where you're concerned," he returned, slowly. She nodded. "I'm honestly not sure that would work."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know how I'd react if I learned you were shagging someone else." He paused. "I really don't want to find out."

She didn't say anything.

"To be clear, I haven't been with anyone else since that night at the bar," he told her.

She didn't respond to that either. He tried not to analyze it too much.

He moved toward her. "I haven't been here in a while," he said.

She didn't comment, only watched him approach.

He reached her, closing his mouth over hers. Then he simply breathed her in, resting his forehead against hers. "I think I remember where the bedroom is though."

She smiled at that.

* * *

_A/N Did this make pretty clear sense? I thought about writing it from Hunter's perspective, when she found the chick in his bed, but I decided I preferred keeping you in the dark with James until he figured it out. _

_PS Thanks for the reviews. It's kind of funny. I usually write or post after work (and if I don't, it either means I'm tired, out of town, wicked busy, or drinking), but because of the time difference, for a lot of you it's your morning. So you wake up to e-mail alerts that I've posted a new chapter. I go to sleep, and then I wake up to e-mail alerts that you've reviewed. It's like a nice little symbiotic relationship we have going on here. And my fourth grade teacher would be stoked that I remember that word.  
_


	11. Should

_Later that night_

* * *

She was on top of him, chin resting on her hands, arms crossed over his chest. Whatever they did before, he tended to position them like this afterward. She turned her head, laying her cheek on her arms.

"I haven't, you know," she told him quietly.

"Hmmm . . .?" he responded, his hands slowly stroking up and down her back. He seemed to have forgotten their earlier conversation.

"Been with anyone else," she said, feeling stupid.

His hands stilled on her back.

She didn't know why she felt the need to tell him. She stared at the wall. It wasn't any of his business. Except that she had been furious to think he'd slept with the slag. And relieved when he said he hadn't. It wasn't very fair for her to care what he did, but expect him not to do the same.

"OK," he said finally.

She lifted her head to look at him. "OK?" she repeated.

He nodded. "I'm not really sure what the proper response is." He paused. "If I say I'm glad, I worry you'll run for the door. If I make light of it . . ." He shrugged awkwardly. "I don't want to make light of it."

She laid her head back on his chest. "I'm sorry I shouted at you," she whispered. "And threw things at you. And hoped for horrible things to happen to you."

He laughed at that. "I'm not," he said. "I like knowing I matter."

She didn't know how to respond to that. "I don't," she said. She really hadn't meant to say it out loud.

He nodded slowly. "I know." He shifted, rolled her under him, and propped himself on his elbow. He looked at her for a long time, lightly tracing the lines of her face. She knew he did it sometimes when she slept. Every once in a while she woke to the gentle touches, but feigned sleep because it seemed simpler than acknowledging them.

His thumb brushed gently over her mouth. She had to resist the urge to draw it in, drive him just a little bit crazy.

"I love you," he said.

She stopped breathing. She didn't realize she had moved, didn't realize she was shaking her head and trying to rise from the bed until he pulled her back down.

"I don't expect you to say anything," he said, pinning her.

"James." She couldn't stop herself struggling against him.

She thought he looked victorious for a moment. "I mean it," he said. "I don't want you to say anything. But I do want you to know. I think maybe you haven't heard it enough."

She shook her head again. "I want you to stop," she said. "You told me you were going to try to do what I wanted this time, not do things I didn't like. I'm telling you I want you to stop."

He nodded. "OK," he said. "I just thought you should know. That's the other part of it. Why I would never bother with anyone else. Why you don't have to worry about me shagging other women. Even if I didn't –" she shook her head frantically. "Feel anything for you," he had obviously switched some words. "They still probably couldn't compare. But I do. So there's nothing else to say."

"I like that part," she said hurriedly, annoyed she could hear the panic in her own voice. "Nothing else to say. I think that's a good idea. I think we should stop talking now." She sounded like an idiot, but she couldn't stop herself. She needed him to shut up.

He smiled at her. "OK," he said, leaning down to kiss her.

* * *

She stared at the wall, unable to sleep. He was snoring lightly next to her, his arm thrown over her. She should have kicked him out. She should never have let him in. She should have told him she didn't love him. He had obviously gotten mixed up about what kind of a girl she was.

He shifted in his sleep, pulled her closer. She let him, telling herself it was just so he wouldn't wake. She should make sure this was the last time. She could put wards around the apartment, refusing him entry. She could stay away from him.

She didn't want to stay away from him.

She lifted her hand and lightly traced his fingers, remembering how badly she had missed them when she tried to stay away before.

Merlin. If she really wanted to be through with him, she'd probably have to move. Or she could shag someone else. Whatever he said about not having any pride, she thought it would hurt him enough to keep him away.

But she didn't like the idea of hurting him. It was one thing for her to stay away, to say she couldn't do this. And another thing to make him feel how she had when she'd found that bitch in his bed. Her hand tightened around his, and he mumbled in his sleep. She released him carefully.

It would be worse for him, if he thought he loved her. She knew she didn't love him. Love wasn't a part of her lexicon.

She wanted him though. And she didn't want to do without him.

She turned her head to look at him again. She lifted her hand, brushed the back of her finger down his cheek, along the side of his jaw, thinking of how often he did the same thing to her. He had said he wasn't asking for anything, that he didn't want her to say anything back. How was she supposed to know if he meant it or not?

She sighed, laying her head down and willing herself to sleep. Maybe the answer would come to her when she stopped looking for it.


	12. Anticipation

He hadn't said it yet today, which was all to the good. Ever since he had told her the first time, he seemed to feel a strange compulsion to say it at random moments. They'd be happily eating breakfast, she'd make some comment, and rather than laugh – as he was meant to – he'd smile and say it.

Or she'd try to wave goodbye and make it out the door without a fuss, and he'd stop her. And kiss her. And say it.

Or he'd think she was asleep. He was always the most idiotic when he thought she was asleep.

She was a little concerned she'd get used to it. That maybe he was trying to ease her into it, so one day she'd accidently say it back. And then he'd think he had her.

She snorted. Merlin. She made it seem like a war. They were just meaningless words. That he felt a strange compulsion to say. And anyway, they weren't the sort of thing that would ever fall off her tongue.

"You look nice," he said, leaning on the door to the bathroom.

She glanced down at her outfit. She had transfigured some clothes she had left there. "Thanks," she said, feeling awkward. "Aisling's orders," she grinned ruefully. "Apparently there's a pretty major potential donor coming in today."

"He'll give you whatever you ask for, I promise," he smiled, pulling her closer.

She gave him a suspicious look. "It's not you, is it?"

He shook his head. "I've donated a bit, but kept it anonymous. Can't have you trying to drag more out of me with promises of . . ." He grinned. "Actually, that would probably work very well."

She laughed. "Keep dreaming, Potter."

His hands found the buttons on her blouse. "As it happens, I was just realizing that I'm not entirely sure what you have on under this. I didn't see you dress this morning."

She batted his hands away. "That must be frustrating for you."

He laughed. "I'm a true student. Always in pursuit of knowledge." He kissed her.

It almost distracted her enough for his hands to finish with the buttons, but she caught on in time. "Nope," she said, pushing him away. "I have to go. You'll just need to wait for tonight."

"Well," he said, fingers trailing up her leg to play at the hem of her skirt. "There is something to be said for anticipation."

* * *

_A/N – I know it's super short. I thought about cutting it out altogether, but I like mundane little moments that show the changes in their relationship. So there we are. _


	13. Things

_A couple months later_

She woke to the smell of glorious cooking. Bacon, sausage. She thought possibly crepes as well. She stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. On her way back out, she grabbed up one of his shirts, pulling it on.

She made her way into the kitchen, smiling at the sight of him at the stove. He always looked very serious about the whole endeavor. Legs planted, shoulders straight. She thought he would look about the same ordering an army into battle.

Amused by the thought, she made her way over to the table. She stopped when she spotted the gift.

"What's that?" she asked.

He glanced back at it. "Your birthday present."

She blinked. "How did you know it was my birthday?"

"I remembered from school. Scorpius made a big thing of it, my last year there." He jerked his head toward the present. "Open it."

She sat down, feeling awkward. She had no idea when his birthday was. It wasn't the sort of thing she paid attention to. And he would never have mentioned it.

Slowly, she untied the bow and tore open the wrapping paper. Inside she found a small box. She lifted off the lid. Inside was another box, this one made of . . . she ran her finger along the edge, trying to determine the substance. Not exactly rock, not exactly metal. Etched into the top was an intricate image of a jaguar, running full out. Gently, she lifted the lid. Inside lay a small muggle photograph of a jungle.

She looked up at him, baffled. "What's the photo of?"

"Your, uh, your rainforest." When she gave him a blank look, he came and sat down across from her. "See, there's this muggle charity, where you can donate money to help them preserve the rainforest. If you donate enough, they'll sort of give it to you. Not to build on or use in any way. Just, you know . . ." he shrugged. "So that you know which bit of the world you helped save."

She stared at him.

He scratched at the side of his face. "I didn't think you'd be too keen on getting jewelry from me, or flowers, or any of the usual things. So I tried to think what you would really like. And . . ." he shrugged, looking awkward. "Maybe I missed the mark a bit."

She shook her head. "No," she said. She opened her mouth, couldn't find words. "No. This is good." She stared at the picture, touched the box. "Where did you find this?" she asked, gesturing to it.

He cleared his throat. "I was always good at transfiguration."

She raised her eyebrows. "You _made_ this?"

He nodded, looking uncomfortable. "I'm not an artist," he pointed out unnecessarily. "I tried to find something first, you know. But, nothing seemed exactly right." He leaned over to look at the box. "This is something like the thirtieth incarnation." He smiled sheepishly. "The box itself was easy enough, but the carving . . ."

"Yeah," she said, tracing it with her finger. "It's beautiful."

His smile bloomed. "You think?" He eyed it again, appraising his work.

She nodded. She leaned forward, rested her forehead against his. "I do, umm," she took a deep breath. "I do feel . . . things."

She saw his mouth turn up at the corner. "Things?"

She pulled back, nodding. "You know. Like, you're there. And so I . . . ."

"Feel things," he finished for her.

She looked away. "Listen, I'm not good at this sort of thing."

"I know."

"You're an ass."

He laughed at that. "I know." He smiled, leaning forward to kiss her. "I'm glad you feel things," he said, sounding sincere. "I feel things too." This time he sounded amused.

"I know. You bloody talk about it often enough," she grumbled.

He laughed again. "I can't help it. Anyway, I think it's good for you to hear that I love you."

She opened her mouth, unsure if she intended to scold him or apologize. "I've never said it to anyone," she told him quietly.

"I know."

"Could you stop saying that?" she snapped. "You can't possibly know all the things you claim to know."

He smiled. "Of course I can. I made a study of you at Hogwarts, after . . . after what happened."

"You didn't seem that interested in me after that." She looked away. "I thought maybe you weren't a cat person."

He gave a startled laugh. "Well, I don't know how I feel about cat cats, but cat people suit me very well." He reached out, brushed her hair away from her face. "I realized that I was the bad guy in our little story. And I didn't want to be." His gaze held her in place. "But I didn't know how to have you without being a bastard. It, uh, it seemed to work for you."

She shrugged slightly. "It's the cat thing. Jaguars. They go for dominance."

He nodded. "Yeah. I sorted that out eventually. Didn't like that idea too much, either. Not in terms of me. Not in terms of any other guys it might have benefitted."

"I can imagine."

He smiled ruefully. "I'm not sure you can." He shrugged. "Anyway, I didn't want to be a bastard, but I don't know how not to want you. So I tried to figure out how I could do both. Which meant I paid a lot of attention to you. I don't think I understood you at all – still don't, really – but I learned a lot." He took her hand, laced his fingers through hers. "Nothing on the order of what I've learned in the last ten months."

She nodded, eyes on their joined fingers. "You're ok with it?" she asked. "That I don't. . . . that I can't really be what you want?"

"You're exactly what I want. All you have to be is you and I'm happy." He paused, reconsidering. "Assuming I get to be with you."

"Yeah, but-"

"I don't tell you I love you so you'll say it back. I tell you because it's true. Because I think it. And it's good to know that people love you. So, when I think it, I say it." He paused. "Well, no. I think if far more often than I say it." He smiled. "I'd rather not drive you away with excessive declarations of love."

"You've come close a time or two."

"I know."

She smiled at that. "It's not the worst thing in the world," she said, fiddling with his fingers. "To hear it sometimes."

"Good," he said. He leaned forward, kissed her. "It's not the worst thing in the world for me to hear that you feel things," he said, a teasing note to his voice.

"I hate you."

He laughed at that. She could feel it vibrating against her as he kissed her. They both knew it was a lie.


	14. Fields

She read the article a second time, grinding her teeth. "Are all your mates idiots?" she snapped at him.

He looked over at her in surprise. "Am I an idiot today or am I guilty by association?"

She folded the paper, threw it to him. "You're man there. You're keeper. Andy is it?" She glanced at the paper, checking the name. "Quidditch star Andrew Fields. He applauds the courts for seeing sense, letting off the bastard that attacked Martin."

He said nothing, but picked up the article and read it with a great deal of focus. She stoked herself for the fight. Of course the courts would let him off, of course the public would see his side. That didn't mean she had to let her . . . let James off the hook for his friends being imbeciles.

He dropped the paper.

"That's lovely company you keep, James. I have to say, I'm you haven't mentioned me to him, or I might need to put up better wards about my place."

His eyes snapped up. "You should put up better wards about your place. As should he. By his logic, I should have every right to bash his head in, if I've a mind. After all, he might be a danger to someone I love. Turn about's fair play, is it not?"

She blinked. He actually looked angrier then she felt. "James. You can't actually –"

"Of course I won't bash his head in. Though I've half a mind to. Wanker. He thinks because he plays bloody quidditch he has any business jumping into this sort of thing. Thinks he knows _anything_ about it."

She smiled at him. "And you're an expert, are you?" she asked, sliding into his lap.

"I know enough to know an innocent man doesn't deserve to get attacked just because once upon a time he had the misfortune to get bit by a werewolf. I bet the little bastard would feel different if his brother got bit, or his mum. Then he wouldn't be bloody praising the _criminal_ that attacked the poor man for no reason."

She hesitated. "You might want to calm down a bit before your next practice. A person could hear that as you endorsing intentional werewolf attacks."

"What?" he stared at her in shock.

She shifted back, still sitting on his lap. "The part about his brother or his mum getting bit. That was part of the philosophy of Voldemort's werewolves. Bite them young, and all that. We're still seeing the fallout today."

"I didn't mean that," he said. "I just meant . . . he's missing the whole point. People who have been bitten by werewolves aren't monsters. They're victims. He'd feel that way if he really understood. Instead he's quick to treat them like they're evil." He shrugged. "I don't like it. They have it rough enough already. I've heard enough about Teddy's dad, how hard it was for him to get a job because of some of the laws about werewolves." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against her. "And I know you're a hell of a lot better a person than Andy."

She laughed at that. "That's undeniable." She nipped at his bottom lip, and quickly succeeded in distracting him.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry it took me so long to post. I've been wicked, wicked busy lately. And I know its mega short, but I thought better something than nothing. I should be able to have the next chapter up within a few days or so. _


	15. Aisling

James walked into the offices for Taipo's Children. He'd never been to her work before. He had a feeling she wouldn't like him outing them to her employees. Still, he wasn't just going to sit on the sidelines. And he knew who to go to if wanted to help.

"Alright?" the pretty brunette called out when he stepped in front of her desk. "How can I help you?"

He smiled. "I'm looking for Aisling. Is she in by any chance?"

The brunette returned his smile with a friendly one of her own. Not overly friendly though. He was getting the same treatment he expected anyone did when they walked through the door. Which meant she hadn't recognized him. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I don't. But I'm in a hurry," he said, changing tactics. "If she's not available, find me someone who is that's at least marginally competent. If I'm going to be giving money away, I'd best make sure I'm at the meetings I've scheduled for the rest of the day, so I can keep making it."

As he expected, his tone – and likely the fact that he'd clearly dealt with Aisling before – sent her scurrying for their star fast talker.

The little blond appeared beside the pretty brunette almost immediately, but moved at a graceful pace. Her smile widened when she recognized him.

"Well, it's lovely to see you Mr. –"

He cut her off. "I'd rather keep this anonymous," he said, with a less than subtle look at the receptionist.

"Of course," Aisling responded smoothly. "Perhaps we can speak in my office."

He gave a quick nod and followed her through.

"You'll forgive me," she said, after closing the door, "but most people who require anonymity don't walk through the front door of our main offices."

He smiled. "I wasn't expecting it to be an option. Apparently your receptionist doesn't follow quidditch."

She laughed at that, a charming sound. He could see how she'd be able to up the ante with the donors. "No, indeed. It drives some of our other employees a bit mad."

"Well, I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth," he said.

"Neither am I." She gave a slow smile and made him laugh. "What brings you in today?"

"Ah, well," he shrugged. "A cross between amends and . . ." he trailed off uncertainly. "You saw the article in the Prophet?"

"I've seen a number of articles in the Prophet," she responded, watching him.

"Well, in the article I'm speaking of, a member of my quidditch team expressed some views that can best be described as . . ." he considered it for a moment. "Complete and utter bollocks."

She laughed at that. "Ah. Yes. I seem to recall something to that effect."

"I'm wondering what I can do to . . . offset any affect he might have had," James explained.

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, we always appreciate donations. Are you wondering what your generosity would help fund?"

He shrugged. "I've a pretty good idea what you do, and I'm fine with donating, if you think that's the best way. But I meant more in terms of . . ." he made a vague gesture, "whether you think it's a good idea for me to make a statement, or give an interview, or anything along those lines." He smiled. "I've considerably more fame than the little twat, and with any luck, could at least balance the scales."

She seemed to be weighing him. "That's awfully hard to do if you wish your support of our cause to remain anonymous."

"Oh," he said, clearing his throat. "That had less to do with the public knowing I support fair treatment of werewolves and everyone else you help."

She smiled. "And more to do with not wanting my boss to find out you sought advice from me."

He gave a quick nod. "Something like that."

"You timed it well," she said, considering him. "She's out at the moment. You might just be able to manage."

He restricted himself to a nod. He'd known she wouldn't be in, of course. She had mentioned she would be checking into the security of several of their safe houses over the next couple days.

"Hmmm . . ." she eyed him for a moment. "Well, as much as I'd like to offer my silence at a considerable price . . ." she grinned, showing how much she'd enjoy fleecing him, "I find myself too charmed by your offer to take advantage of the . . . delicate position you're in."

He laughed. "Oh, feel free. I've been meaning to come in and make another donation anyway."

"Another?" she asked.

He smiled. "Sent the other through an intermediary. I have it on good authority you'd have bankrupted me."

She laughed at that. "I still might." She considered him for a moment. "Well, if you'd like to show your support for our foundation, and our cause, my best suggestion is you attend our upcoming benefit." She grinned at him. "You'll be getting off light, actually. It's only a thousand galleons a plate."

He nodded. "You think that's better than me making a statement."

"Yes," she responded seriously. "Part of the problem with your man's statement is that he has no authority. I'd rather people who share our view of the matter see him as a fool who has no business wading into the debate than anything else. I'd rather they have no reason to compare you to him, as well, if you're going to be standing with us. And you're right. You've considerably more fame than he does. And, even better, a great deal more clout, being the eldest son of one of our great heroes. I think, you attending our little benefit says every bit as much as any article could, and without you actually having to say it. Which makes you the class one on the side of righteousness, and him the attention seeking twat."

"You think they'll see me coming as a sign that my father would also support you?" he asked. "And that makes a difference?"

She gave him an understanding look. "Yes. Whether you prefer it that way or not, you are Harry Potter's son, and people can't help making the connection. In truth, that's the bigger boon for us than having a quidditch player to balance out your keeper."

He nodded. "In that case, would it be possible for me to purchase twenty plates."

She laughed delightedly. "Oh, you know the way to a woman's heart." She smiled. "But we want to event well attended. Better for you to buy one, and make a large donation."

"I was just thinking that if me attending is a tacit endorsement from my father, my entire family attending would be an even stronger show of support."

She blinked at him. "You think you can get that many of your family members to come?" she asked, all traces of humor gone from her voice.

He smiled, nodding cheerfully. "Of course. Remus Lupin was well-loved by my family. I've no doubt they'll be happy to come out in force."

"Well, then," she said, smiling wickedly. "Allow me to relieve you of a considerable sum of money."

* * *

_A/N Sincerest apologies for any errors or typos. The editing was a little rushed, because I'm still pretty busy. And I make no promises on when the next chapter will be up, but it shouldn't be a super long wait. Anyway, hope this tides you over for a bit. _


	16. Family Dinner

He walked into the changing rooms, trying to keep his irritation under control. No one else seemed to give a damn about the article, or even know about it. And it obviously hadn't occurred to Fields that he had read it, and gave a damn.

He didn't even bother changing and showering, just walked over to his bag and hefted it, ready to apparate.

"Alright there, James?" Andy asked, in his usual cheerful manner.

"Grand," James growled, turning on the spot without another word.

He appeared in his own living room. He dropped his bag and walked into the bathroom. Dragging off his kit, he climbed into the shower.

It worked out well that Hunter intended to be gone for the next two days. He'd been able to finagle a family dinner, and he would d let everyone know about the benefit then.

He probably should have asked them before buying the plates, but he knew they'd be with him on this one.

The bigger issue would be the presence of Hunter, himself, and his family all in the same room. He didn't know how that would go. He didn't know how he wanted it to.

He should probably tell her, but he thought he'd rather it be a surprise. Whether she wanted anyone to know about him, he couldn't say. But he knew she'd approve of the very public support. Even if she'd always sneered at him for being Harry Potter's son, she'd happily make use of it in this case.

He climbed out of the shower and dressed quickly. He apparated to a spot just a bit away from his parents home and walked the last of the distance.

He walked through the front door, feeling – as always – that sense of comfort that came from being home. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. What he'd expected to be a small gathering had ended up quite large. Perhaps he shouldn't have been quite so vague about what he wanted to talk to them about.

"So," Roxanne asked. "You get a girl pregnant?"

James blinked. He definitely shouldn't have been quite so vague. "No," he said, giving her a bemused smiling. "But thanks for jumping to conclusions."

"That's what I'm here for."

He surveyed the room. "Did you all actually think that's what I wanted to talk to you about?"

George shrugged. "You told your mother you wanted to talk to them about something important, and to invite everyone from the family, the more the better."

"And that's what you assume?" James shook his head. "You're all going to be very disappointed that I only wanted you here so I could strong arm you into going to a charity event."

"Yes," Fred agreed. "Yes we are." He glanced around. "In that case, I'm off."

"A charity event?" Lily asked, surprised.

He nodded. "Taipo's Children is having a benefit." He cleared his throat. "I might have – a bit rashly – bought twenty plates. So," he shrugged. "I'm going to need most of you to go along with it."

"Taipo's Children?" Teddy asked, considering James. "I didn't know you gave to them."

James shrugged. "Aisling was damn near ready to marry me when I said I'd take twenty." He shrugged. "But, as my keeper decided to come out and say he thinks people have every right to attack law abiding werewolves simply because they're werewolves, I thought that I would disagree." He smiled slightly at his dad. "And she seemed to think me being Harry Potter's son would have a greater impact than me playing quidditch," he shrugged, "so I threw you all to the wolves." He blinked. "No pun intended."

"Well, I for one think it's a great idea," Teddy said, without hesitation. "I'd have bought one myself, but they don't come cheap."

James smiled. He watched Rose have a whispered conversation with her husband. "We'll come as well," she said, after a moment, smiling at James. Mark nodded his agreement, his arm around her.

"We'll come, of course," Hermione said, not bothering to consult with Ron.

James hesitated. He cleared his throat. "It _is_ an arm of the Malfoy foundation," he said delicately. "And, I think, it would sort of . . . overshadow our support of werewolf rights if anyone got into a fight with Malfoy." He glanced around, trying not to focus only on Ron. "So, anyone who goes should make sure that they feel confident they can be civil."

"Well, if he doesn't want our bloody money," Ron began.

"He already has the money," James cut in. "Or, more to the point, Taipo's Children does. And, as Teddy has pointed out numerous times, it's the only organization of its kind and does great work for a lot of people who really need it."

"I'm just saying," Ron continued, but James cut him off again.

"I don't see them causing a stir at their own function. And honestly, I'm not even sure they'll be there. Hunter will, though, and it wouldn't do at all for you to start anything with her," James realized his tone had edged toward threatening and tried to reel in his temper.

Teddy agreed calmly. "He's got a point. Sort of defeats the purpose of us coming to show our support if we turn around and cause a scene with the person who's done more for the cause than anyone in the world."

James saw his mother blink. "Has she?" His mum asked, sounding a bit surprised.

Teddy nodded. "The numbers are actually quite shocking. And the stories are worse. Before I started giving to them, I thought my dad had been treated badly. Now I realize his life was practically charmed compared to a lot of werewolves. Even with the wolfsbane potion, a lot of people still simply turn their children out, if they're bit. And it's worse among the muggles, since they don't understand what it is, or have any access to the potion."

"What do they do for them?" Hermione asked.

"Give them homes, in a lot of cases. Food, clothes, all the necessities. They also do a lot with psychological counseling. I was interested in that aspect of it, so I spoke with their head psychologist, Anna. She's interesting," Teddy observed. "Young, but very put together. And a muggle. Apparently, her brother was bit, when they were kids. He was killed by some locals, after doing quite a bit of damage. She spent a lot of time wrestling with it, trying to sort out her memories of it all. She studied psychology because of it, and came to believe she'd invented it all to repress some other truth. Then she met Scorpius Malfoy and realized it had really happened."

"Isn't that against the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy?" Hugo asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Not if she already knows some of it. Though, probably he'd have been better to tell the wizarding authorities, so they could modify her memories. As they should have done in the first place."

"I think that would have been a massive waste," Teddy said quietly. "She's a big part of their success, this Anna. She's set up their program for easing the transition, when someone is bitten. And she's their main liaison with muggles."

Hermione looked surprised. "I'm not sure they should be dealing directly with muggles."

Teddy smiled. "I asked that myself. They've got the proper certification. Part of the issue is, you can't exactly modify someone's memory if they're going to be living with a werewolf. Some of the muggles don't want anything to do with their kids, after they've been turned. And them they modify. But the ones who still want to keep them, they're dealt with more like the parents of muggleborns. And it sounds like Anna and her team are instrumental in easing the transition."

"You make it sound like this is a huge problem," Ron commented. "I didn't think werewolf bites were all that common anymore."

Teddy shook his head. "Not among wizards so much anymore. But there were a lot of people bitten while Voldemort was coming to power. And not all of them were found." He shrugged. "It's part of why it's a bigger problem among muggles. Mostly they stay away from areas with a lot of wizards, or they're caught and sent to Azkaban."

"Sent to Azkaban? Just for being a werewolf?" Roxanne looked shocked.

"If they're operating outside the law. If they know they're a werewolf, and choosing not to take precautions to protect lives. If they're intentionally placing themselves in populated areas around the fool moon." He shrugged. "A lot of that is shades of gray with some of the werewolves they send away. Some of them were children when they were bit, and genuinely never understood they could be different, controlled. But some are as bad as the ministry thinks they are."

Fred sighed. "I guess this means I'll have to go, then, yeah?"

James smiled. "Anyone who would like to go is more than welcome, assuming they feel confident they won't start any fistfights."

Ron smiled slightly. "It's not me you have to worry about popping Malfoy one. I think Hermione started that particular trend."

Hermione blushed as the assembled Weasley and Potter clan turned to her in shock. James settled in to watch the show.

* * *

_A/N Sorry it took so long for me to post this one. Hopefully the wait won't be near as long for the next chapter. _


	17. Benefits

They had arranged to have the benefit at a lovely old manor house. He showed his invitation at the door, and made his way carefully into the great room. He looked around for Hunter, but didn't see her. He did, however, spot several of his cousins. He started to head in their direction, then veered off course when he saw Aisling.

"Well, if it isn't my current favorite person," she greeted him with a smile.

He returned it genuinely. "Glad to see I've held my new position."

She laughed. "For the moment. I'm working on replacing you though."

He grinned. "Well, then I wish you good hunting."

"Oh, always," she returned, showing her teeth. Then she cocked her head at him, becoming serious. "Are you looking for herself?"

He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "She around?"

Aisling smiled. "Something came up, but she promised she'd be here before the drinks and mingling finished."

He saw her eyes cut away, and then sharpen. He glanced back to see his parents enter the room.

"You do deliver, don't you?" she commented quietly.

He nodded. "As promised."

She gave him a winning smile. "Introduce me?"

He laughed. "It feels a little like feeding them to the sharks," he teased. "But," he lifted his shoulders, "I suppose they can take care of themselves."

"Rumor has it."

He led her over and introduced her, then wandered off to see how his cousins were faring. He was chatting to Rose and Mark when Hunter walked in.

"What?" he said, having lost the thread of their conversation.

Rose only smiled, seeing where his attention had gone. "She looks lovely. I don't think I've ever seen her in a dress."

"No, she doesn't usually go in for them," he responded absently, eyes still on Hunter. She wore a strappy black dress and strappy black heels. He watched Aisling catch her eye. She noted who the blond spoke with, and her eyes immediately scanned the room, coming to rest on him. He smiled at her and toasted her with his drink.

He couldn't see a reaction from across the room, but watched as she walked over to greet his parents. He could tell they were surprised. Probably less by her dress than her manner. She greeted them cordially, playing the part of hostess better than he would have expected.

"Are you going to talk to her?" Rose asked quietly. He saw her glance back at Mark, who looked a bit bored, perhaps a little annoyed to have been dragged along.

James smiled. "Absolutely."

Rose laughed at that and then went over to sit with her husband. James moved away as they began a hushed conversation.

He made his way over to Teddy and Victorie. "Enjoying yourselves?" he asked.

They both smiled. "Yeah. They've done a great job, haven't they?" Teddy said.

"Everything looks beautiful," Victorie agreed.

James nodded. "Yeah. I'd say they've outdone themselves."

He couldn't help glancing over to see how Hunter's conversation with his parents was going. They seemed genuinely interested in whatever she was saying, and not the least bit offended. Which probably made it the most successful conversation they had ever had.

* * *

He gave her her space, wondering if she would approach him. He'd watched her speak with almost everyone else, including most of his family. Her conversation with Rose had been quite extended. But when she didn't come to him, he decided to hell with her space.

He walked over to where she stood with Moore and Aisling. They all saw – or sensed, more likely – him coming.

"So," he said, glancing at Aisling, "Do you think she'll dance if I ask her to?"

Aisling shot Hunter a sideways look. "Well . . . yes. It would be rude not to. And it wouldn't do for her to be rude to any of our guests tonight."

Hunter gave her a look, but didn't contradict her.

James held out his hand. She watched him for a moment before taking it, and allowing him to lead her out onto the floor.

"You've done a great job with this," he said, pulling her close to dance.

She glanced to the side. "Aisling has," she said, and he had a good idea where her gaze fell. "I just have to show up and look acceptable."

"Devastating," he corrected.

She smiled at that, pulling back a bit to look at his face. "That's something then."

He didn't say anything, just pulled her closer again. His hand slowly stroked up and down her back as they danced.

"How did you get Aisling to keep it a secret?" she asked. He couldn't tell if she was annoyed or curious.

"I gave her lots of money. If I'd asked her to sing the Hogwarts school song, standing on one foot, and wearing a tu-tu, I think she'd have agreed."

She laughed at that. "Probably."

"You're not angry?" he asked.

He felt her shift, look at him again. "That you came and brought most of your family, no. That you didn't mention it . . ." she trailed off.

"I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it."

"That sounds like a good reason to talk to me ahead of time," she pointed out.

He opened his mouth to say something glib, then thought better of it. "That's fair. I'm used to . . ." he shrugged, "trying to maneuver around you. I thought you'd be more likely to accept it here than ahead of time. But that's probably not giving you enough credit."

"You figured I wouldn't make a scene in public?"

"I figured you'd see that the benefit outweighed the cost," he corrected.

"Cost?" she asked.

He looked down at her, serious. "People speculating about us."

She laughed, surprising him. "I thought you meant having to be nice to your family."

He blinked. "Well. That's honest."

She smiled. "It is, yes. Was that part of it? Me seeing them in a setting where I had no choice but to be nice, so they might like me better."

"No," he said. "If I had thought it through all the way, I might have considered it a nice side benefit, but I wasn't thinking about that. If I was, I wouldn't have brought Ron." He glanced around. "Or Roxanne."

"I'll have you know I was perfectly nice to both of them," she pointed out.

He grinned. "I know. When you walked away, they looked staggered."

She smiled for a moment, then her face turned serious again. "James, you know they probably aren't going to like me, yeah? And vice versa. How ever I might feel about you," she rolled her eyes at his sudden smile, "it really doesn't change anything about my opinion of your family. Or there's of me."

He shrugged. "They'll love you if you give them half a chance. And Teddy did most of your work for you there."

She raised her eyebrows at that.

"He seems to think you've done more for werewolves than anyone else on the planet."

"Hmmm . . ." she said, and left it at that.

"So the question is whether you're willing to give them a chance. Because I think you'd like them better than you expect, too." He paused. "Maybe not all of them. I have a feeling you and Ron will never see eye to eye. And that's fine. I'm not asking you to love them."

"Thank God."

He gave her a stern look, which she laughed at.

"I'm just asking you to have an open mind about them."

"How about we compromise and say I'll be civil, and try to keep my thoughts to myself," she suggested.

He held back a sigh. "OK," he said.

She smiled up at him. "OK?" she teased.

"OK," he repeated. Unable to help himself, he leaned down to kiss her. He heard a wave of whispers hiss across the room, and pulled back. "So," he said quietly. "The question is, will Aisling think this helps or hurts the cause."

She shrugged. "Only one way to find out I suppose." Keep their hands joined, she towed him across the room to Aisling, where they proceeded to discuss the topic at great length.

* * *

_A/N - I know, I know, I know. I'm terrible. I should have updated sooner. My only excuse is that this has been a wicked shitty month. Anyway, the next chapter (or maybe the one after that) should start the shift to Scorpius' POV. I felt like I kind of rushed through this chapter a bit, but I didn't really want to spend a lot of time on the pointless small talk that goes on at this sort of thing. __Hope you enjoyed it anyway. All reviews are appreciated._  


Naj


	18. Crap

"Heard about it all the way over here," Scorpius was saying.

She snorted. "Big follower of quidditch, are you?" She watched his reflection in the little hand held mirror laugh. They had been communicating this way for years. When they had first gone their separate ways, they had used muggle technology to keep in touch. Then it occurred to them to take advantage of being wizards and avoid all the pitfalls that came with electronics. So Scorpius had purchased the set of mirrors on a trip home.

"I don't think who James Potter is dating qualifies as quidditch," he pointed out.

"Fair enough."

"The article was more gossip, anyway. You got a lot of play, with Harry Potter's whole family coming out to your benefit. And then you seducing the great James Potter on the dance floor."

"Probably I shouldn't correct them and say it was in a hallway at Hogwarts," she decided.

He laughed. "Probably not." He didn't say anything for a moment. She knew what was coming. "So, you met her husband."

A part of her wanted to tease him, but she didn't have the heart for it. "I did."

"And?"

"And he's an asshole."

He smiled. "I know I can count on you for loyalty, but I was looking for a more objective opinion."

"My objective opinion is, he's an asshole. In public, in little ways. Like not liking when she pays too much attention to someone else. He's always touching her. I think her family takes it as a newlyweds thing, even though they've been married more than a year. To me it looks like the way you keep your hand on a dog you don't want to stray too far."

He stared at her. "You think he's abusive."

She shrugged. "I'm biased when it comes to these things, so I might be reading too much into it. But he's an asshole, for certain. And it's changing her. She used to be opinionated. Now she defers to him."

"It could be that's her view of marriage. The wife standing behind the husband, and all that crap."

"Did you get that sense, when you were together? That she was the stand behind sort?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Me neither. But she was always insecure, even when she was with you. It's easy for some people to mistake controlling for caring, in the beginning. Arrogance for confidence. Possessiveness for love. The more they want someone to care about them, someone to love them, I think the easier it is to get taken in."

"I just don't see it," he said. "Her family would never stand for it. She would never stand for it."

Hunter shrugged. "You could come see for yourself. She teaches at Hogwarts. Ask the muggle studies professor to let you give a guest lecture."

He opened his mouth. She knew he was going to say he couldn't, but then she saw him glance around. She wondered what he saw.

"Maybe I'll do that."

She smiled. "Good."

* * *

_A/N So I absolutely crapped out on this story. I wrote this bit a while ago, but didn't want to post it until I wrote some more. Sadly, I still haven't written any more. I promise to try, but just in case I fail miserably, I thought I should at least let readers know what direction I was planning to go in with Rose and Scorpius. _

_My sincerest apologies. _

_Naj  
_


	19. Back

_**WARNING! Proceed at your own risk. The following few chapters set the foundation for a sequel that may or may not actually get written.**_

* * *

Scorpius walked into Hogwarts for the first time in years. It hadn't changed in the least. He felt a thousand bad memories wash over him. Smiling slightly, he let them go. He'd replaced a lot of them with good memories before he left, anyway. Many of them centering on Rose.

And life had gone so fast since he walked out of the castle for the last time, it wasn't hard to put the rest aside now.

He didn't know what to believe about Rose's situation. Kim had a knack for observing people, and making educated guesses. But he couldn't imagine Rose standing by someone who didn't treat her well.

He took a deep breath. He'd sort it out soon enough, one way or another. Doing his best to put it out of his mind, he turned resolutely toward the muggle studies room. He had a lecture to give today.

* * *

"Ella, Renee, please try to keep the chatter to a minimum," Rose chastised.

The pair of seventh years looked at her apologetically. "Sorry, Professor. We're just excited about Muggle Studies. They're having a guest lecture about healing in relations to muggles. And since we're both planning on being healers . . ." Ella trailed off. "But that's not an excuse," the brunette admitted. "We'll keep it down."

Rose paused. "Who's the speaker?" she asked.

"Scorpius Malfoy," Renee answered with a giggle. "I've heard he's quite fit. I mean, for someone who's old."

Rose tried not to be offended by the description. She certainly didn't consider herself old.

"I can't believe you think a Death Eater is fit," one of the boys grumbled.

Rose glanced over at him. "Scorpius isn't a Death Eater," she responded calmly.

Renee and Ella both gave her wide eyes. "Do you know him?" Ella asked.

"Once upon a time," Rose answered with a shrug. "But at the moment, I'm more concerned with you mastering this spell."

* * *

She didn't seek him out. A part of him thought he should respect that and leave her alone, but he just couldn't. He had to know.

Shortly after his last class, he knocked quietly on her office door.

"Come in," she called.

He opened the door slowly, smiling at her as he stepped inside. "Good evening, Professor," he teased.

She smiled at him, cocking her head slightly, as though evaluating him.

He spread his arms and waited patiently. "Do I pass?"

"You look healthy enough," she told him. Walking around the desk, she came over to him and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. "It's nice to see you Scorpius."

"You too," he said, lifting a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She stepped away from him. It was an old gesture, and one he had no right to now. He let his hand drop.

"So," he said, feeling awkward. "I heard you got married."

She fiddled with the ring on her finger. With her eyes down, he searched her face for signs of any bruises. "Two years next month," she said with a little smile.

He thought Hunter had to be off target. She seemed her normal self. And he didn't see her smiling about an upcoming anniversary if her husband didn't treat her well.

"Congratulations," he responded belatedly.

She met his eyes for a moment, before shifting back to lean against her desk. "How about you? I know it isn't really your style, but there is something to be said for married life."

He shook his head. "No. Still waiting to find someone who can measure up to the standard you set."

She looked away at that. "How did your lecture go?" she asked, apparently deciding to leave the past in the past. "My seventh years were pretty excited."

"Except the ones who don't care for listening to a Death Eater talk about anything," he responded drily.

"Oh, they didn't," she huffed, clearly irritated.

He laughed, at ease. "It's fine. Kind of fitting actually, to run into that attitude." He glanced around. "Strange to be back here."

"I take it you don't miss it?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Some of the people," he said. Sensing that even an oblique statement like that made her uncomfortable, he hastened to move on. "But the place as a whole, no. There's something to be said for being judged on who you are, rather than what your name is."

She nodded. "I can certainly relate to that." She tilted her head, watching him. "Does it live up to your expectations?" she asked. "Changing the world?"

He smiled slightly. "The world doesn't really change. But from time to time I make it a bit more comfortable for people, and there's something to be said for that."

"According to my seventh years, you heal by the hundreds. I think they think you walk into a muggle hospital, clap three times, and everyone hops out of their sick beds to do a little dance."

He laughed out loud. "In that case, I'm an absolute shite lecturer. I can't have given them an impression any further from the truth."

"Well, you've inspired them at any rate," she declared with a smile. After a moment, she looked at him again. "So what's it really-"

Her question was cut off by a voice calling from her pocket. "Time to go. Don't be late." It switched into cheerful whistling, occasionally interrupting itself for another reminder.

He eyed the pocket-watch she pulled out with bemusement.

She blushed a bit as she silenced it. "Well, as embarrassing as that was, it makes a fair point. I have to be off."

"Where's a professor need to be at this hour? You've ages until you need to be in the Great Hall for dinner."

She looked over at him, surprised. "Oh, I don't eat here," she said, hastily packing up her things. "And if I want to have dinner ready when Mark gets home, I'd better be on my way." She gave him a quick smile. "It was nice to see you Scorpius. And I hope the visit to Hogwarts wasn't too terrible."

He let her hustle him out of the office, reminding himself that she had always been a punctual person. And her considerate nature explained her desire to have her husband's dinner waiting for him when he got home, he rationalized. Still, he couldn't help the tension in his shoulders as he watched her walk away. Or the sick feeling in his stomach.

* * *

He strode out of her office and down to the Great Hall. Whether or not she ate dinner there, he was staying for the night and fully intended to. He remembered thousands of meals taken in that hall, thousands of memories. It was strange to be back among them, watching from the outside, observing rather than creating.

He eyed the children cautiously. He wondered if they knew how these experiences would shape them, good or bad. He wondered where they would find themselves, ten years later.

He spotted Neville waving to him, and hastily redirected his musings. He was going to have a bite of dinner, spend the night, and then head up to London to spend a bit of time with Kim.

"Here, Scorpius," Neville was saying. "I wanted a word, while we eat." He gestured to the empty seat next to him. Scorpius inclined his head and took it, efficiently scooping food onto his plate.

"I'll tell you this," he said. "The fare here's better than any I've had in years."

Neville laughed. "Well, you're going to do my job for me, at this rate."

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. "I don't know what you mean, Headmaster."

"Professor Bendon has been telling me how well your lectures went today," Neville began. He paused at Scorpius' laugh.

"Pardon me, Headmaster, but I believe I've just discovered how misleading they were. I seem to have given the impression I heal with a clap of the hand and a wink of the eye," he explained.

Neville, being Neville, joined in the laughter without hesitation. "You healers always believe it will be easier than it is. If there's one truth I've learned in this job, it's that. Professor Bendon assures me you did not skimp on the details, and that you had an excellent teaching style. He has suggested that we find a way to keep you."

Scorpius blinked. "I'm sorry, Headmaster, but I'm due back in less than two weeks. I could do another day of lectures, if you'd like-"

"You misunderstand," Neville interrupted. "I believe he wants to keep you permanently. I think he'd even give up his own post to manage it, but that shouldn't be necessary. My suggestion would be to have you begin on a temporary basis, offer lessons only to the upperclassmen, and specifically to those desirous of a future in healing."

"Headmaster . . ."

"I know it would be a big change, but we would be more than willing to work around your other commitments. You could, perhaps, reduce your schedule with the Malfoy Foundation to, say, 70% of what you've been doing. That would leave 30% open for us, which would more than account for the classes we spoke of."

Scorpius opened his mouth to decline, and then thought better of it.

"Surely you don't want to spend your entire life moving about from warzone to warzone. It can't be conducive to building relationships, or a family," Neville continue, surprisingly confident in his persuasion. "We can offer you a very flexible position, which you can use to create a sort of . . . home base, if you will."

Scorpius smiled. "You're very good at this," he commented.

Neville didn't comment, but his sly smile said he knew very well he was, and had no intention of changing.

"I suppose," Scorpius began, "there is something to be said for having a home base."

Neville nodded. "I suppose there is. But you take all the time you need to think about it. You can notify me of your decision once you've made it."

Scorpius looked around at all the teachers at the table. "How many of them," he asked, "did you lure away from other professions and commitments?"

Neville smiled again, the smile of the victorious.

"Of course," Scorpius said, shaking his head. "I'll let you know when I've decided."

* * *

_A/N I know it's in bits and pieces. I lost the flow of it. I think it's part of why I stopped writing on this story. Anyway, sorry, sorry for the choppiness and how incomplete it all is. _


	20. A Most Unsatisfactory Ending

He apparated to London and quickly made his way to Kim's office. The moment he walked through the door, the secretary recognized him.

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," she greeted, rising and walking over to shake his hand. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Kim must have heard her, because she appeared seconds later. "Oh, he's just fine. Scorpius doesn't want the royal treatment, right Scor?" she folded him in a hug that added some warmth to her dry reception.

"How are you?" he asked, holding her at arm's length for better evaluation.

She smiled brightly. "Doing a sight better than you are, I expect. How bad was it?"

He laughed. "Not as bad as all that," he said. "I rather liked the teaching part, and the children were moderately less horrible than I recall children being."

Kim snorted. "And . . . "

"And, we should go have breakfast," he suggested. "And sit down to have a chat like reasonable people."

She didn't miss the underlying meaning, that he'd rather not discuss his ex with prying eyes and well-tuned ears about.

"OK," she said. "Let me grab my jacket." She dipped into her office for half a second and reappeared just as fast.

"I have my cell, if you need me," she called to the secretary, who nodded and wished Scorpius a pleasant day.

* * *

They decided on breakfast at home, because it would be more private. Kim mentioned she didn't have a lot in her fridge, so they stopped by a grocery store on the way and got all the necessities for a good breakfast.

He carried the bags into her apartment, looking around at the place. It was shockingly tidy, especially for Kim. But there was a thick layer of dust coating everything. He wondered how long it had been since she'd been there.

He set the bags on the tiny counter in the kitchen and began putting the food away. He opened her refrigerator to find milk a month gone off, a door full of condiments, rotting takeout, and half of a six pack of beer.

He cleared his throat.

"Oh, shut it, you," she said, not having any trouble interpreting his meaning. "So I spend a bit of time at James' place."

He laughed. "I think 'a bit of time' might be an understatement," he said, throwing out the expired food. He pulled the garbage bag out of the can immediately, tied it off, and went in search of a dumpster.

When he came back inside, the groceries had mysteriously put themselves back in the bag.

"This is ridiculous," she said. "I should have just brought you there right off. Come on," she rose and grabbed the bag. "This place smells like a rubbish heap."

He laughed. "Fair enough. And anyway, I've always wondered about Potter's place."

"You could call him James," she suggested.

He laughed much, much harder at that. "Who would have thought?" he said, shaking his head.

* * *

They apparated to a spot near Potter's apartment, and she led him up to it. When she pulled out her key, they both knew he noticed. She unlocked the door quickly, and dropped the key back in her purse, as though it had never made an appearance.

"He gave you a key?" Scorpius asked, deciding to pretend this was all normal.

She sighed, dropping her bag on the counter and beginning to put things away. Scorpius didn't miss the fact that she seemed more at home here than she had at her own apartment.

"A while back."

"Are you thinking of moving in?" he asked. He was very good at keeping his voice neutral, but not good enough to fool her.

She paused, and then resumed putting things away. "Would you have a problem if I did?" she asked in a very quiet voice.

"No," he said, "I can't say that I would."

She looked over in surprise.

"I'm not going to say he's my favorite person," he began, "But anyone can see he's been good for you." She looked away, covering the awkwardness by making coffee. "Kim," he said, taking her arm and pulling her back to face him. "I'm glad," he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "You deserve someone who makes you happy, who makes you . . . comfortable."

She snorted. "Comfortable," she repeated, turning way. "That sounds like something you'd say about someone right before you divorced them."

He shook his head, watching her finish the coffee. "I meant comfortable in your own skin."

She stopped, turning to look at him, but not saying anything else.

"You've always been . . . tense. Uncomfortable. Like with anyone, with everyone, you're waiting for the other shoe to drop." He began looking through cupboards. "Now, it's not that you're unguarded, it's just that you're . . . less guarded," he said.

He finally found what he had been looking for, and victoriously raised the frying pan over his head as he continued his explanation. "I'm sure you still know every entrance and exit, I'm sure you're still aware of everyone in the room, but the people you are actually talking to . . . you're giving them a chance. You didn't used to."

He set the pan on the stove and flipped the burner on. Then he set about scrambling up some eggs. "It's good. People are supposed to have places they're comfortable, people they trust."

"I trust you," she said, watching him.

He grinned. "Yes. But that was the trust of the wary. This is the trust of the . . . content," he slung an arm over her shoulder. "And, knowing you, and knowing how you felt about him last time I was in London, I'm thinking he had to do a lot of work to get you there. So that's something then," his voice warmed at the idea.

She laughed at him, pulling away to put some bread in the toaster. "You're just happy I made him work for it."

"Absolutely. And that he was willing to. You deserve someone who'd go to the wall for you," he said. "I knew he would for your safety, but it's just as important when it comes to your happiness."

"Well," she said, shrugging.

He laughed again. "Well," he agreed. "Anyway, you never answered my question."

She opened the refrigerator and pulled out some cream for their coffee. "No, I'm not planning on moving in, exactly." She was silent for a moment, pouring the cream. "But I do spend most of my time here."

"Fair enough," he said.

She handed him a coffee and started gathering plates and silverware to set the table. "So, what didn't you want to tell me about Hogwarts at the office."

He shrugged. "Just that I didn't see any signs of . . . anything unfortunate, when it came to Rose," he said.

She gave him a long look. "Good," she said finally. "I'll be glad to be wrong on this one."

He dished eggs onto each of their plates and added the toast. "The headmaster offered me a permanent position, if I wanted it," he said.

"At Hogwarts?"

"No, at Beaubutons," he said dryly. "Of course at Hogwarts. It would only be part time, so that I could continue working for the Malfoy Foundation most of the year."

"How would that work?" she asked.

He shrugged. "They said they would work around my schedule. My guess is I would have to begin taking more short term projects, so that I could schedule them when I don't have classes." He took a bite of his eggs, considering. "Or I could tailor my projects to work with just a few hours free a day. If I did some traveling, became one of the inspectors . . . They wouldn't have any way of knowing I was apparating in, instead of driving from place to place." He bit into his toast, chewed it thoughtfully.

"You want to do it," she said.

He looked up, surprised. "Oh, no. I don't think it will-"

"Scor."

He scrubbed his hands through his hair. "Yes," he said. "I want to do it."

She held her fork aloft, shaking it at him. "Then do it."

"It's not that simple," he disagreed. "There's a lot to consider."

"Not really," she said. "You'll be an asset to the organization, in whatever capacity you choose to contribute. You said yourself you liked teaching. You'll be able to get a better sense of Rose's situation, which we both know is going to bother you, and you'll be closer to me. It's a no lose situation."

"Did Neville contact you?" he asked.

She looked surprised. He was fairly sure it wasn't feigned. "No," was all she said.

He sighed. "Alright," he said. "I guess I'll speak with him tonight and tell him I'll do it."

* * *

The End

* * *

_A/N This is officially the end of Better Angels. If I can manage a sequel, it'll be focused on the Scorpius storyline, with bits of James and Hunter thrown in for good measure. If I cannot, I apologize sincerely to anyone who is disappointed (but at least now you can probably guess at where I might have been going – in fact you probably know as much as I do as of 6/20/2013). _

_If you feel really, really strongly about it needing to continue, you might try sending me suggestions for how you'd like to see it go. It could a) jog my memory, b) inspire me, c) have no effect at all. _

_Thanks for reading! _


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